*A note before you read this. After doing an audit of my blog in 2022, I have decided to leave content that speaks to the Christian I was at the time this was written. I no longer identify as Christian (and haven’t for a very long time.) I chose to leave these posts because it is who I was then and it is important to me to be honest and true with every iteration and evolution of self that I experience. I may decide to add comments to the end of posts like this as well
I’ve got to hit this head-on–is there another way? It may be a one day post, it might be a series, right now all I really know is I need to get this out before it kills me.
I thought about journaling all this, but I felt like God was pushing me to do it here, live. Not for attention or sympathy, but I think because here, out in the open I can’t pretend it doesn’t exist. If I journal it, I can keep avoiding the issue.
So here goes. Confession #2
The reason I’m writing this is because I went through an excruciating time one year ago today. It was really longer than a year, but the climactic ending was on February 20, 2006. This is about my Uncle Ed’s suicide. I’ve shared with very few people what happened leading up to that day. With my innermost, trusted friends I shared some disturbing journaling–I will not share that here. Ever. What I want to get to is this overwhelming fear I have, because I just can’t stand it anymore.
I fear that God allowed all of the events of my Uncle’s death to prepare me for something worse.
There. I said it. Out loud and in public. You cannot fathom how much I hate admitting that I fear something, but this is incapacitating me. All day, every day thoughts hammer my soul.
Who’s next? Will my husband die? My son? My brother? My sister? My parents?
Realistically, I know they’re going to die, we all are. But its the cause of death that is clogging up my days like cholesterol in arteries. The walls are closing in even though I’m fighting with everything I’ve got to get just one more inch further. I’m barely squeezing through and it’s constricting my breathing, cutting me off.
The fact that I’m still grieving is of no surprise to me. Here’s what gets me. My friend and I are going through Beth Moore’s Believing God, both of us for the second time. One of thing stressed is the need to believe God for miracles, to know and acknowledge that during the study you will see a miracle. The first time I went through the course, I believed that my miracle was being present when Uncle accepted Christ from his bed in the ICU after another overdose attempt. The date was 05-05-05.
My miracle happened very early on and I spent the remainder of the study basking in the warm glow of miracle beams. (Read the following in typical Baptist church lady-ese) Oh God is good! My Uncle Eddie found Jesus and he’d want to dive into the Bible, read, learn, absorb, grow, and be with me forever telling the rest of the family about Him and His faithful love. We’d tell them all how Jesus changed Uncle Ed’s life, turned it around, he’d be the poster boy for Jesus’ redemptive ways. Praise the Lord, Hallelujah and Amen. I believed God and He came through and now Uncle Ed and I, we’d be like Abbott and Costello–but for Jesus. Oh the fun we’d have bringing people to Jesus. Life was full, promising, and everything looked beautiful. Me-the former atheist and Uncle Ed-saved after a suicide attempt both of us now living for Jesus. (End church lady talk)
Except Jesus forgot one very important detail. He forgot to let Uncle Ed live.