The issue of suicide comes up for me again and again, not only because I have pondered it as a solution to my own problems in the past, but because I work with people every day who are slowly committing suicide through the abuse of drugs and alcohol. I am an addict in recovery, clean since May 30, 2005. That is not my first clean date. A life of complete rebellion against all authority, including that of God, led me to a place of hopeless despair in 1994. I entered treatment and was diagnosed with severe clinical depression and poly-substance abuse. In that place, as in most treatment facilities, counselors teach about the 12 steps as a means of recovery from addiction, and doctors prescribe medication for depression. For nearly four years after that experience, I believed that I had found the answer to my problem. I fully believed, also, that I knew this man, Jesus. I had been “saved” and baptized (a couple of times!) as a young child, I prayed in His Name, I studied the Scriptures diligently, and I found a church where I didn't seem to stick out too much. By 1998, after a series of huge life changes, I was depressed again, and again I turned to drugs. Things would get okay for a while; then things would get worse. All the time, I'm praying, “God, if I could only touch your robe! If I could only reach you!''
Try as I might, I could not see God at work in my life. I felt abandoned and forsaken. Because I could not see or hear or feel God, I had no escape from the enemy, the father of lies. Every attempt I made to get better failed, including prayer at the altar, participation in deliverance exercises (twice, and at no small monetary cost), 12-step meetings, psychiatrists, psychologists, and medical doctors. I was at death's door, and I had run through all my options. I can say truthfully that it was not the fear of hell that kept me alive. It was the dim and fading hope that before I died, God might have mercy. Then the miracles began.
My mother and her husband went to Colorado for vacation in 2003 while, coincidentally, I was locked up in the hospital after an “accidental” overdose of prescription meds. Oh, I was angry that my mother had gone off when I obviously needed her so badly. Those few days in the hospital were hellish. I was having trouble speaking clearly, I couldn't sleep, and I labored under the heaviest, darkest depression I had ever known.
When my mother returned, I went to visit her, and there on her bedside table was a book by Frances Roberts titled, Come Away, My Beloved. I was irresistibly drawn to it and wanted my own copy, but Mom said the book was out of print. She had gotten it through a strange (but wonderful) man in Colorado who made sand-blasted signs. She said she would see if he could send a copy, and very shortly thereafter, a package arrived at my house containing the book and a pamphlet about Stretcher-Bearer Ministries. On the blank side of that pamphlet, this little man, Peter Laue, had taken the time to extend an invitation to me, a complete stranger known to him only as a desperate addict, to visit the Upper Room. The whole idea seemed outrageous to me. Drive all the way from Texas to Colorado on the slight possibility that something real might happen? No.
Inexorably, my condition worsened until, in January of 2005, I finally gave up. I was ready to die; however, my mother and Peter were NOT ready for that. My mother took on the responsibility of transporting me to the mountains, and Peter prayed in intercession until he was literally so drained and frustrated that he was forced to relent and let God do the rest. And God did.
As my mother and I neared Peter's property, we began to sense that something was different here. What an understatement! I will never forget entering Peter's house that morning. He came to the door in his signature pajamas and robe, and he hugged me like I had never been hugged, laughing all the while, joy bubbling out of him. For the first time in my life, I FELT Jesus. Through Peter's obedience, I got a hug from the King that day. He invited us into the living room where he began to talk and to hand me various items, like a sword, a key, a huge brass medallion bearing the image of the Lion of Judah. Finally, he said, “I have a gift for you. I was going to wait, but the Lord says I should give it to you now.” He retrieved something from the other side of the room, and handed it to me. It was a small metal statue of the woman with the issue of blood, reaching out to touch the hem of Jesus' robe. It was, in hard, cold metal, evidence that Jesus is so crazy about me that would spend years weaving a tapestry that would assure me of my salvation. I was dumbfounded.
We stayed in the Upper Room for a few days, but my struggles did not all end in a flash. I would return to Peter’s in March, and in May - after losing my position as a high school teacher, destroying my and my husband's credit score, and neglecting my family to the extent that I very nearly lost them entirely - I checked into treatment again. It was brutally difficult, and I was angry, grief-stricken, and full of self-loathing. Still, I could not forget that hug. I couldn't explain that gift. And I finally became willing to go the Lord on my knees and ask Him directly what He wanted of me.
Ultimately, what the Lord wanted was forgiveness - my own forgiveness of myself. Patiently, He demonstrated that He is absolutely, positively, unconditionally, and eternally crazy about me. He reassured me that the price has been paid, and I am ransomed. I am free. Now, I spend my days joyfully reveling in His love and learning to walk in the freedom that He has promised us all.
What I know today is that Jesus has this same abiding love for each of His children, individually. He yearns to hold us, help us, heal us so that we never have to fear again. When the Word says that there is no fear in perfect love, that is precisely what it means. I don't know why I am blessed to be sitting here at this keyboard today while countless others of God's children are suffering and even dying, many at their own hands. But I do know that what saved me was the love of Jesus Christ, love that came first through the hug of mighty spiritual warrior who understood that Love heals. It is through Love that we receive that promised strength to do all things through Christ Jesus. It is through Love that we carry that LIVING message of hope and of freedom into the darkest recesses of a dying world. And it is through Love that we receive the peace that passeth understanding, the peace that made Paul to be content in all circumstances, the peace that allows us to release every individual - mother, father, sister, brother, daughter, son - to the loving care of the Creator.
It occurs to me that we are asking the wrong questions about suicide: Is suicide a sin? Are those who commit suicide condemned to hell and an eternity of separation from God? I must have a Special Edition of the Bible because mine says that once we call on the Name of Jesus as our Savior, NOTHING can separate us from His love. It doesn't say only a few things can separate us. It doesn't say nothing can separate us except suicide, homicide, abortion, homosexuality, etc. Nothing is an absolute, and when we cannot trust anything else, we can trust that God says what He means and means what He says.
What I've learned about my own experience with suicide is that condemnation is of no help, whether we condemn the act of suicide, ourselves for our inability to stop it, or the victim of suicide who could not hold on long enough for the miracles to happen. I recognize that family and friends feel angry and powerless in the face of such loss, and that's a natural part of the grief process; nevertheless, if we are ever to get through that process, we have to let the dead bury the dead while we continue to keep our eyes on the King, continue to serve as conduits of His saving Grace.
There is no need for us to decide how God handles such situations suicide; our need is to rest in the knowledge of God’s love and sovereignty. There is no need to quote Scripture at a person considering suicide or wrestling with the suicide of a loved one. The Word of God comes fully ALIVE when we become willing to allow Jesus to re-form us in His own Image. When we are able to step beyond all the sermons we've attended, all the books we read, all the apologies for Grace that we've heard, then we can expect to meet Him. Jesus lives! The Holy Spirit is vital and active! Risk letting go of the fear that keeps us bound in the enemy's chains, and watch the fireworks!
The Dark Night of My Soul
Submitted by Peter Laue
lukefour18@gmail.com
This awesome story of "The Dark Night of My Soul" is a real eye opener. The only reason I am not printing it out here is that it is a complete story in itself and can be read here or
on the site. I call it my First Aid Station as I can go there for help or relief of any need I have. Please check out Peter's story. You will be extremely glad you did.
Suicide-Is It Truly A Sin?
Submitted by Gail Wilkins
gmw2466@usa.net
This community survey was sent out approximately three years ago. It is on my site atnamed "Suicide--Is It Truly A Sin?" If you are depressed or need help please review it. Click Here to view it
