Craving Encouragement

At this stage in my life, I rarely crave encouragement.  But, that's not the case as of late.  Therefore, I feel embarrassed to admit to this need.  So much so, in fact, that I absolutely don't wish to post this here.

Years ago, I had my second meeting with a prominent local attorney who'd somewhat watched me grow up at First Baptist Church Jackson.  He asked me to rendezvous with him at his office inside the bowels of his impressive law firm, and from there, I admitted to being then where I'm at today - craving encouragement.

I'll not soon forget what he responded with.  It was so lame that I can't even type it.  For someone with so much respect and notoriety in the state of Mississippi...wow it was an incredibly disappointing response.  I'm hoping he was simply having an off day.

Encouragement, as you age, I have found, comes less and less.  As your body shrinks, your hair grays / thins, your mind slows, people take note and assume you're settled into yourself - so to speak.  Especially family and friends.  Therefore, there's much more criticism or criticism through silence than anything else at my stage of life.  And frankly, this truth sucks.

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In the face of my need to be encouraged over the course of this weekend, I remembered a dead man and what little of his life I was privileged to be privy to.

In the past, Lakeside Presbyterian Church was lead, almost exclusively, by one particular Type AAA elder.  I never had the opportunity to meet him, but I watched him from afar.  I remember attending a pilot Sunday School class that he taught at our church, and him stating how he loved John Wayne.  So much so that he regularly watched his movies on Saturday afternoons.  This man was built like John Wayne but more muscular.  He was +/-12 to 15 years older than I (inside the physical body of a much younger man), with two grown children and a beautiful wife.  He served our community as a local judge, and had for much of his career. 

To say that his presence was intimidating was an understatement.  I remember distinctly that he had the longest eyelashes of any man I'd ever seen.  Literally, it was as if he was perfect through and through.  Incredible looks, intelligence, respect, prominence in the community, solid family, and on and on.

Nevertheless, I never returned to his Sunday School class after that initial meeting.  I simply felt to inept in his presence.  His masculinity was so intense that it literally was like being in the presence of John Wayne's clone.  Overwhelming.

But this man and all he represented came to an end on Good Friday, 2015, having driven himself to a roadside stop on the Natchez Trace where he shot himself.  From what I understand, it was another prominent elder of Lakeside Pres who found his corpse.  What a horrible day that was for our church and our community.

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Therefore, to summarize, the most manliest of men I've ever met killed himself.  It's mind boggling for me to fathom even today.  All that notoriety, respect, physical prowess, influence, etc. was turned on its head that day.  All of us touched by this man experienced utter shock.

And by ruminating on his suicide, I'm finding myself returning to what I know to be right and true.

I had just come through the darkest valley of my soul around the same time Mr. Fairly killed himself, and my doing so was only attributable to God's grace.  I can remember so vividly how much I rejoiced to no longer feel such constant, intense emotional pain accompanied by those cruel voices beseeching me to harm my own self.

And from there going forward, I stand in awe as to what God has done for Rob.

There is nothing that I can describe to you that compares to feeling what I felt during those dark days, nor is there any recourse greater than having come out on the opposite side.

Why did Dan Fairly do what he did?  How long had he suffered?  Did he too, reach out to other men for encouragement, only to find glib responses?  And finally, why did I survive, and he didn't?

What feels like eternal darkness makes a lifetime impression.  May I never forget the restoration I received, nor the potential macabre "solution" I avoided, only to live on with my story to share and henceforth, encouragement to give.

Can there be no other emotionally cataclysmic event than suicide, brought on by hopelessness and despair?

Lord, give me the courage to speak up, never to hide, and to always remember the valley I endured.  Especially during times when I'm craving forlorn encouragement.