Never give in. Never give in. Never, never, never, never--in nothing, great or small, large or petty--never give in, except to convictions of honour and good sense. Never yield to force. Never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy.
~ Winston Churchill ~
Approximately eleven months ago, I originally published this blog entry titled "Why???" At the time I published it, I was still reeling from the devastating news that a young man that I'd previously mentored, Ethan, had recently committed suicide. My emotions were still pretty raw and all over the place when I originally wrote this. Even to this day (nearly a year later), I continue to wrestle with the question "WHY." Hence, the post title (Still Wondering...) "WHY???"
The three question marks at the end of the question why represent the three men I referenced in my post. Jarrid took his life in September 2019. Ethan in October 2021. Marvin in October or November 2011.
September marks National Suicide Prevention month in the United States. Always remember this: you are not alone. Reach out...to anyone. You are loved. You are worth living. Your life means something to someone. Don't loose hope. And as Churchill said, "...never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy."
I am currently in the midst of one of the greatest challenges that I have ever experienced during my 41-year-old life. This challenge has presented itself in the form of raising my seven, soon to be an eight-year-old son. My son’s brain constantly moves at warp speed. He is brilliant. No, I don’t say that simply because he is my son and I am a proud father (even though it is true, I am a proud dad). I say that in a matter-of-fact way because there are simply no other words to describe him. And since my son was adopted, there is no way on God’s green earth that he got it from me.
This little
eight-year-old blessing is something that my wife and I deal with every day, as
we try to constructively guide him through life while also encouraging him
to be a fiercely independent problem solver. My kid is so analytical; this is
evidenced in that he loves to argue about anything. I have always joked that he
is going to make an excellent defense attorney one day because he can argue his
way out of anything (and does so quite convincingly). Another challenge that
comes along with raising my son is answering the million “why” questions that
he fields my way every single day. “Why does this happen, daddy” or “why does
this work this way, daddy” or “what makes X equal Y” and on and on and on. Now,
although it may seem like I am griping a tad bit here, that is not the case. From
the moment he first started talking, I have always encouraged my son to ask me
all the questions he wishes to ask. I tell my son the same thing that I always told
my students when I was teaching: “there are no dumb questions.” So, I am happy
that my son is asking questions even though it does sometimes get old trying to
come up with the answers to some of his questions!
“WHY???” I would dare say that no other three-letter word
in the English language contains the power packed into this small, unassuming word.
“Why” is a word that invites questioning, and self-examination within oneself.
Indeed, it demands introspection and invites conversation in general. “Why” is
a word that can be both simultaneously maddening and enlightening.
When
we ask “why” and the person of whom we are asking the question delivers a
satisfactory answer, the word grants us immediate gratification and resolution.
We get an answer to the question “why.” However, the same word can also be
maddening at times. When something befalls us or we are forced to go through
something that we feel like we should not have gone through, our human nature is
to question God “why?” Of course, during those instances, the use of the word
looks more akin to this: “WHY???!!!”
I learned many years ago,
as a youth, to never put anyone on a pedestal. As I discovered in my youth, if
you put someone on a pedestal, they will eventually fall off the pedestal and
then the weight of them crashing down will seriously wound you. When I was in
high school, I had a youth pastor that I was very close to and really loved. I
think that he was the first person that I ever put on a pedestal in a church
situation. As a youth, I was not as strong in my faith, and I was a lot more
vulnerable. One day, I watched my youth pastor fall off the pedestal during a
church camp one summer. I was absolutely crushed. I was devastated. I never
looked at him the same again. From that moment on, I made a deal with God: I
would never put any fallible human on a pedestal ever again. No, that did not
mean that I would not love people or even try to trust them, it just meant that
I would not hold them to such a high standard that it would eventually set them
up for failure.
I am
not big on social media at all. I just don’t really see the purpose of it
(other than occasionally keeping up with old friends that live many states
away). Real-life happens right in front of you – it happens in the muddy trenches
when you are barely surviving, and it happens on top of the mountains; regardless,
it happens with the people that you love who are actively a part of your life,
in real life. Real-life means that you can reach out and actively touch a
person such as giving them a hug in church, or having a cup of coffee with
them. You can’t do that via social media. But there was a time in my life about
six or seven years ago when I was pretty involved with Twitter. I never posted
much of anything on Twitter, but I followed a number of motivational accounts from
which I drew great encouragement. I found encouragement through the devotionals
and motivational thoughts shared by pastors and other motivational speakers.
There
was a young man named Jarrid that I started following on Twitter. Jarrid was an
up-and-coming young pastor who was on staff at a large church in California.
For some reason, the words that Jarrid shared on Twitter and on his personal
blog resonated deeply with me and spoke to me. I was going through a bad bout
of depression in my life during that time, and even though Jarrid seemed to
have it all together (he was a pastor) and had a beautiful family
who loved him, Jarrid also suffered greatly from depression. Everything that Jarrid
spoke about related to depression and suicide prevention came from the trenches
of his own experience and it really resonated with me; I knew at the time that
it was God giving me messages of hope through this young man. I never did put Jarrid
on a pedestal (I learned my lesson, remember), but I did hold his words in high
esteem, and I sincerely looked forward to every new thought that he shared on Twitter
and every new devotional that he published on his blog. Even though I never met
him in person, I felt such a strong connection with him and it was almost like
we were kindred spirits fighting our way through the darkness of depression and
trying to find the light of life once again.
I’ll
never forget one of the last things that Jarrid posted. It was around National
Suicide Prevention Day back in 2019. Jarrid spoke of how life was so precious,
and he encouraged anyone fighting the darkness to reach out to him or to anyone
else who could hold out a hand to grab onto. And then his words stopped. There
were no more tweets, no more blog posts, no more anything. And then I found out.
This young pastor, this man of God, this kindred spirit who had touched my
life, was dead by his own hand. A mere few hours after his son’s ballgame, he
ended his own life. He killed himself right after he wrote what he did for
National Suicide Prevention Day. Even though I had never met Jarrid in person,
my heart was truly broken and I asked God:
“Why, Jarrid???”
-------------------------------
One
of my dad’s good friends from his years of living in Meridian was a man named
Marvin. Marvin was a good guy, and he was a very strong believer as well. He and
my parents went to church together in Meridian. Marvin and my dad would go
hunting together, and they always enjoyed getting together to shoot the breeze.
When my dad left Meridian, Marvin was one of the few people that he kept in
contact with. After my dad moved from Meridian, Marvin’s health started failing
him in several ways. My dad went back to Meridian a couple of times to visit
Marvin, to check up on him, and just to spend time with him because Marvin was
lonely. But life goes on, and time and distance have a way of interfering with
relationships.
I remember one of the last phone conversations that my
dad had with Marvin. Marvin told my dad that he was going through a rough patch and
really needed to see him. My dad talked with Marvin for a while and assured him
that he would make the trip to Meridian the next week to see him, but that he
had a lot going on during the current week. My dad thought he could wait a week
to go see Marvin.
A few days later, Marvin’s neighbor texted my dad. My
dad said that it was probably the worst text he has ever received. The
neighbor’s text was to inform my dad that Marvin had gone into the woods behind
his cabin where he proceeded to shoot himself in the head. I don’t think that I
have ever seen my dad quite as emotional except during his mother’s (my late
grandmother’s) funeral. That was an incredibly tough blow for my dad, and he
questioned God for months afterward. “Why did you let Marvin take his own
life.” “Why did I not take the time to go to Meridian on the day that Marvin
called me and needed me?” I don’t believe I have ever seen my dad quite so
mentally anguished before. He felt so incredibly guilty for a long time after
that, but he eventually came to terms with the fact he most likely could not have
saved Marvin no matter what.
“Why, Marvin???”
-------------------------------
In my
late 20s and in my early 30s, I was involved with an international prison
ministry that had a local chapter in one of our state prisons. It was something
that I never desired to get involved with nor did I want anything to do with.
But God had other plans. Out of that initial prison ministry, I later branched
into other areas such as mentoring juvenile offenders and mentoring older guys
who were within a year of being released. Back in 2012 and 2013, I was a part
of the collaborative reentry program that was started by Stuart Kellogg of Jackson
Mississippi, and I had the opportunity to mentor three men through that
program. The last young man that I ever mentored as part of that program was a
young fella named Ethan. Ethan had a sad story, and he had found himself locked
in prison at the ripe young age of 20 due to a tragedy that he had been
involved in. Another guy named Mickey and I were assigned to Ethan to become
his mentor. Twice a month for the next year, we went into prison and mentored
Ethan one on one through sharing personal testimonies and a Bible study. Those
were some of the sweetest times that I have ever been privileged to be a part
of.
Ethan possessed such a
gentle soul; he was kind, he was humble, he was eager to learn, and he loved
the Lord. Ethan was a gifted writer and a great wordsmith; his grandmother
owned a small weekly newspaper in Alabama, and Ethan had the unique opportunity
to write weekly articles of encouragement for the newspaper. His column was
titled “Penned behind Bars.” Ethan was a very unique writer; I can unabashedly say
that having read hundreds of great (and not so great) essays written by
students over the years. A talent like Ethan possessed can only be a gift from
God. As an English teacher and fellow writer, it was my pleasure to both mentor
and encourage Ethan as he grew in his writing ability.
After he got out of
prison, Ethan briefly attended USM in Hattiesburg before moving to Alabama to
take over as the assistant editor of his grandmother’s weekly newspaper. I kept
up with Ethan via text message and through social media, but I eventually got
busy raising my own son. I never forgot Ethan, and never forgot those special
moments that we three shared behind the walls of a prison. Ethan had his ups and
downs, and I knew that he went through a couple of rough patches over the past
few years. But he seemed to have leveled out over the last year or so, and was
very successful in his endeavors. He was an award-winning writer and
journalist. I did not really talk to Ethan much lately, but I had kept up with
him.
“Why, Ethan???”
-------------------------------
In each of these
instances, I have raised the question “why?” Why did these three individuals
(all strong believers of God) commit the ultimate act of selfishness? But you
know something? As I asked myself “why” during each of these three times, a
little voice in the back of my head whispered, “you know why, Stephen….” And, I, unfortunately, do know why.
I know why because I
have been in the place that Jarrid, Marvin, and Ethan have been in. The only
difference between my situation and theirs is that when they reached the door
at the end of that long, dark, tunnel, they stepped through it and closed the
door behind them. I have been to that place. I have been to the end of that
tunnel, and I have opened, then peeked through that door. I have seen the
freedom from pain, and the new and glorious morning that lies on the other side
of that door. But each time, I heard God say “no, not yet.”
That long, dark, tunnel
is a very scary place to be. You can’t see anything. There’s nothing above you,
nothing below you, and nothing on either side of you. There is just blackness. At
the far end of the tunnel, you can see the light shining under the door, a
small sliver of hope that mysteriously beckons you toward it.
But to open that door and
to step through would cause those left behind on earth to endure immeasurable
pain. It pains me to say this, but there was a time several years ago when I
came so very close. I had a plan, and it was a great plan. But I heard God
saying “no, not yet.” And so, I fought, with everything that I had inside of
me. I clawed my way back to the other side of that tunnel, and I eventually
found the light of this world again.
That is my story. I
cannot speak for Jarrid, Marvin, or Ethan. I cannot tell you what went through
their minds during their final moments or what caused them to commit the ultimate
act of selfishness. But I can speak for myself. And I would almost be willing
to bet that their thoughts in their final moments were very similar to mine. I am a natural loner. I
love to isolate. And that is a very dangerous thing for me. 2020 was a dangerous year for me. There have been
other times of darkness since that moment I experienced in the tunnel a few years ago, but
they have not been nearly as bad. I have caught myself passing by the tunnel on occasion, and for a brief
moment and I found myself just wanting to jump into the darkness again and head towards that light peeking under the door. But I knew that I could
not do that. And so, with God’s help, I have been able to drag myself away from
the tunnel each time.
I will always miss Jarrid even though I never met him. And I will most definitely always miss Ethan. I loved Ethan, and I was so proud of who he had become. My dad still to this day misses Marvin. There are some pastors out there who made the argument that if a believer commits suicide, it is an automatic ticket to hell. I have heard that said before. I was talking to my own pastor earlier this year because he had a good friend on staff at his previous church who committed suicide a few years back. It was something that really tore him up for a long time. He and I had a long and fruitful discussion, and I told him about my journey through the tunnel. He assured me that even though he believes that it is the ultimate act of selfishness, he also firmly believes that believers who have chosen to end their lives early are in the arms of Jesus. I have no doubt that Jarrid, Marvin, and Ethan are resting in the arms of Jesus and that their pain is finally healed. And you know, there are some days that I am jealous. I am jealous that they got to see Jesus and I’m not able to yet. They got the ultimate remedy. But each time I feel that jealously coming on, I hear God whisper “I am not done with you.” And so, I wait.
I love answering the
questions that my son throws at me each day. I often tell him that I don’t know
the answer to every question, but that I can certainly try to find out the answer to why. I
don’t want my wife to ever have to ask the question “Why, Stephen???” or my son to have to
ask the question “Why, daddy???” So I continue to hold on. And even in those moments when I
feel like I can’t hold on anymore, I know that God will never let go of me and
he will continue to hold on to me. "Why he let go of me" is a question that I’ll
never have to ask!
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