When I was little, I recall a time when my dad’s heart was heavy, his smile was gone and our house was somber. His best friend, Craig, had killed himself and my dad had to identify his body. My parents kept the details from me, but this generality was plenty. About a decade ago, my childhood friend went into her brother’s room to find he had shot himself under his blankets. About a half-decade ago, my cousin killed himself in his car in the garage. In 1996 and 2000, I attempted to. And a few years ago, my middle school crush killed himself at home. Today, I don’t write this post from any perspective other than my own. And from it, I have seen that suicide is not the answer. I am glad my attempts grossly failed. I have lived to see the goodness of God in my life and his miracle in my comeback. God determined the day I would arrive–and I trust his timing on the day I should leave. It’s too big of a burden to be responsible for the coming and going of a life. The sculpture does not tell the potter when to display it and when to shelf it. I am thankful to live because my boys need a mom, my husband needs a wife, my friends need a buddy. No matter how deep the valley, how dark the sky, how slimy the pit, there are people who need me and in their lives, I can not be replaced by anyone else. The verse I love so much, about the preciousness of life, is when Jesus promised, “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” My life has tried to be stolen–but with Jesus–I have had the joy of living it. I hope this encourages someone today.

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