A dark cloud surrounds me, clouding my view. The pressure is building, the heavy mantle on my shoulders causing my head to bow. I stumble. This once smooth path has turned rocky, the mist beginning to smother the gentle light illuminating the way. God never promised that the journey would be easy, but he did promise to carry my burdens.
And yet the dark, heavy shroud of suicide remains. Each time the sorrowful load is removed, I reach behind and retrieve it. Has it become such an integral part of me, that I cannot imagine life without it? Do I feel this is who I am, my identity? In Christ I am free, but I am not living in this truth.
I look up and see him there, his pure, holy light piercing the night. Beckoning me. Calling me. Saving me.
John 16:33; Matthew 11:28-30; John 8:36; Psalm 27:1.
I have a tendency to think a lot, and when too much time is spent dwelling on negative things in my life it is not long before I quickly become despondent and feel suicidal. Had I given my cares to God and not retrieved them, I probably would not have felt suicidal. And yet, ending my life is not something I want to do; rather, I desire freedom from the anxieties and cares of this world, and in these moments suicide seems tempting.
My friends want me here; God wants me here. Sometimes the thought of continuing to live with pain is too much to bear, and seeing Christ’s light is the only thing that spurs me on.