February

A sense of dread fills my heart as February is only days away.  February has always been a difficult month.  The beauty of Christmas and the hope of the New Year have both gone stale, and the only thing that's left is cold temperatures and gray days.  In our heads we know Spring is coming, but in our hearts it still feels a long way off.  We wonder if it will ever truly come.

February has taken on a whole new dread since 2012.  This February will be be the third anniversary of my nephew's death.  The day that the pain and pressure of life drove him to the pit of despair and he took his own life.  There is still a part of me that struggles to believe that is actually true.  Did that really happen?  How is it that a child that was loved with such a fierce love could be gone, and by his own hands?  How?  It does not compute.  He brought our family so much laughter and joy.

But joy wasn't his only story.  Obviously.  We are never just one sided.  As human beings, we have many facets.  I know for me personally, although I love to laugh, I know great sadness.  Though I have wonderful friends, I know profound loneliness.  Though I have been loved well, I can still believe the lie that nobody cares. Although I'm surrounded by light, I know a darkness that runs so deep that only Aslan could tear it out.

My nephew, Jon, was no exception to this phenomenon.  Although he was loved and delighted in, he struggled deeply.  Although he had a delicious sense of humor, he knew despair.  Autoimmune disease, pain, drug addiction and alcoholism were also part of his story.

I have deep, dark regrets when it comes to the last years of Jon's life.  The last time I saw him he was on something.  It was the first time I had ever seen him in that state and I did not react well.  I think deep down, I was scared.  I don't do scared well.  I cover scared up with all kinds of other things that look more powerful, like anger, or self-righteousness, or some other disgusting entity.  I ignored him.  That last time I ever saw his face, I ignored him.  I am tempted to hate myself forever because of that. But through much processing with God in the quietness of my own heart, I have agreed to let it change me instead.  I have chosen instead to reject the pharisee that lives inside my heart and kill it every time it rises up.  When I'm tempted to think I'm better than somebody else, my nephew's face pops into my head and I remember his life and his story and his value, and I bow my head in humility.  His story has changed me.

As much as I would like to, I cannot go back and treat Jon differently that day.  So instead, I treat the people who are still alive differently.  I cannot over look human beings like I used to.  I can no longer drive by the homeless man who panhandles on the corner.  The older one, with a walker, who carries a sign that says, "Anything helps.  God bless."  That man, with the blue eyes.  I stop.  I give him money.  I can't help myself.  I see my nephew.  I say things like, "Please try to stay warm," and "I'm praying that God will bless you." I know that he probably uses the money for alcohol.  The last time I saw him, his skin looked yellow, like maybe his liver is failing.  And it breaks. my. heart.  But if today is his last day on earth, I want him to know that he mattered to me, this woman who drives the silver mini van, and wears the aqua coat, with two dark haired, young girls in the back.  I cry tears on my pillow about him in the middle of the night, when the temps drop down low, and pray that God will protect him.

Just as we are changed when new human beings come into our lives, we are changed when they leave us. Joy, trauma, pain, it all changes us.  It's what it's meant to do.  We're supposed to change.  It's the whole purpose of life.  I feel like it's the only thing I have to offer to honor my nephew's memory.  Because his life mattered to me, I'm different now that he's gone.  Because his life mattered to me, I will value every life that I come in contact with.

Whoever you are, right now reading this blog, I want you to know that your life matters to me.  Whether you're a friend, or a family member, or someone I've never met.  Your life is precious.  If you're addicted to drugs, or alcohol, or pornography, or food, or gambling, or social networking, or your iPhone,...or whatever else.  If you're homeless, or wealthy, or empty or full.  If you're in physical pain or emotional pain.  Your life matters.  Not just to me, but to God.  God cares a million times more than I ever could.  The ripples of your life travel long and far.  If you're struggling with despair and are afraid of what you might do, reach out right now to someone who loves you.  I know it's hard, and you don't want to, and you don't want to inconvenience anybody.  Do it anyway.

Ephesians 3: 14-19 from The Message. "My response is to get down on my knees before the Father, this magnificent Father who parcels out all heaven and earth. I ask him to strengthen you by his Spirit—not a brute strength but a glorious inner strength—that Christ will live in you as you open the door and invite him in. And I ask him that with both feet planted firmly on love, you’ll be able to take in with all followers of Jesus the extravagant dimensions of Christ’s love. Reach out and experience the breadth! Test its length! Plumb the depths! Rise to the heights! Live full lives, full in the fullness of God."

http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/