This is the first in what I hope to become an ongoing feature on this blog. Originally, I wanted to call it Testimony Tuesday, but sometimes the word "testimony" is a turnoff; therefore, it will be instead "My Story" Tuesday.
Most Christians have a number of stories to tell about what God has done for them. I'm no different. This is one of my own stories, but next week someone else's story will appear here. Please drop by, and if the story helps you or touches you in some way tell us about it.
Also--if you have a story to tell, send it to me at firstname.lastname@example.org. Naturally, I have the right to use or not use the story. Frankly, there are a few folks out there who will say anything to get their name in print, and if I get any indication that you are fibbing, the story will be tossed into the smelly bone pile.
On the other hand, some folks don't want to tell their story because they DON'T want their name in print. Never fear--just let me know that fact, and I will invent a name for you like Ann Landers used to do. Like "Fearful in Chicago" or "Sleepless in Seattle." You also don't need to be a professional writer. I'm happy to edit and send it back to you for your okay before posting.
Now for my story. Many years ago, I had decided to leave my husband. I'm not going to go into the reasoning--it wouldn't hold up in any court of law. Moreover, both of us were Christians (and still are). I had prayed over and over for God to change me so that the marriage could be a happy one, but didn't hang around for the answer. Or maybe I didn't like the answer. I took the easier way out, so I thought.
In addition to my husband, there were two small children and one adult child who were affected by my decision. The worst day of my entire life was telling them I was moving out, and their tears tore me apart. They still do, even though all three have since forgiven me.
The guilt of my actions ate on me until I made another decision--I would take my own life. My children, my husband, and the whole world would be better off without me in it. And I would be happier, too, I thought. I could go be with Jesus and forget the trials and tests of this world, all of which I had flunked. On the other hand, I had quit talking to God. What made me think He would even consider letting me into His home? But I didn't think about that. I only thought about how I didn't want to be in this world any more.
The only problem with this life decision was finding a way to kill myself so that everyone would think it was an accident. I habitually wore a seat belt, so a traffic accident where I didn't have them on would be a dead giveaway. And if I had them on and ran myself into or off of a cliff could just make me a vegetable for the rest of my life. Jumping out in front of a truck might work--but again, too obvious. I put a lot of thought into this matter, but could think of nothing that would work.
I mentioned to a friend that I had stopped praying. He was one who didn't go to church and would probably be written off as a non-Christian by most practicing Christians. I thought he would understand. Instead, he looked shocked.
"You can't do that," he insisted. "He knows what's going on inside you anyway, you might just as well talk to Him about it. I do that all the time. I go for a drive, find a quiet place, and talk to Him. You can't just ignore Him."
And so I did. That night, I spewed my innards out on God, ranted and raved for about a half hour or so. I finished off with, "I know You don't love me any more." Well, such a feeling of love washed over me that I knew I had been wrong. He really did love me no matter what.
That was the beginning of healing for me. My life didn't suddenly turn around except for the praying bit. I still wanted too much to maintain control over my own life. That's still another story that we might talk about someday. But at least no more plans for suicide plagued me.