Life?

Plain and simple….life is hard. I never imagined that marriage would be so much work and raising children would be so intimidating. I envy those people who have discovered how to live a life full of joy, no matter their circumstances, and I dream of being that type of person… some day.


I often think that I was born in the wrong era. I long for a simpler life in simpler times. I long for the days when families all lived close to each other and good neighbors were a part of the family. Those days are long gone in our society.


It is funny to me that I am 40 years old and yet; I still have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing with my life. I know that I have four children to raise to the best of my ability and that I play a large role in how they live out the rest of their lives. I contemplate the mistakes I have made and wonder how those mistakes will impact them.


I wrestle with the demons from my past and I wonder if I will ever be set free from their grasp. I long for the simple things in life to bring me joy and complications to roll off my back.


In an earlier post I conveyed my struggles with love….what it means…what it doesn’t mean. I continue to wrestle with what true love is and how it portrays itself. I’m not convinced that mankind is capable of true love, and yet I find myself hopeful that we are.


I am definitely in a season of change, but what that change is I have no idea. I hate that life has become so complicated, but yet I am thankful for the opportunities that have come my way. Is this a part of what they call a mid-life crises. I don’t have a clue, and I laugh at the thought of it. (Is this where I get to go buy a leather jacket and a motorcycle?...Sounds good to me!)


I never in my wildest dreams thought that my life would end up as it has. As a teenage girl, I dreamed of the prince and princess relationship and the world of “happily ever after”. Now, as a woman of 40 years old, I realize that the land of “happily ever after” does not exist and that I was foolish to believe it in the first place. (Who is the cruel person behind this conspiracy?) Now that I have accepted where I am, I wonder what changes I can make to have a fulfilling and purposeful life. I want to make an impact on others. I want to be a source of encouragement and assistance to others. I want my life to reflect more than my selfish ambitions. I want my life to make a difference. I want my life to be about helping others and not about what I can accomplish for myself.


It is difficult to look outwards, when I have spent so many years looking inwards.

Go to Hell!!!

Jagged. Piercing. Hot. Pain that penetrates to the depths of my bones. Pain so intense that my body cannot take it for another second. Pain so agonizing that my body becomes numb from the severity of it. I never imagined that someone could endure such pain.


I look down to see my hand moving like a mechanical machine. Picking up shards of my shattered dreams and my brokenness, I stab them deep into my heart. Over and over again. Each shard piercing deeper and deeper into my soul. I have never felt such overwhelming sorrow in all my life.


I wake up to the sounds of uncontrollable, gut-wrenching sobbing and slowly realize that it is coming from me. As I come into consciousness, I become aware of my tear soaked face and pillow. Even though I understand that it was just a dream, the pain and hurt remains.


I relax back into my pillow and muster all the strength that I possibly can to get out of bed.


“Please….not another day to endure….”


I think back to just a few months ago. I think about how different my life was. I think about my relationship with God. God and I…we had something so very special. I was totally in love with Him. He was the center of my universe. I couldn’t wait to leap out of bed every morning and open my Bible so that I could be with Him and His Word. I was so in love with God that His joy overflowed out of me. God and I stayed in constant contact all day long - “praying without ceasing”. To some people, it probably seems very odd. But everything I said and did was with God on my mind. It was the happiest I had ever been in my life. I found my joy truly in Him – I needed nothing else!


But those days were gone!


In my mind, God had abandoned me in my deepest hour of need. He didn’t care. He was gone!


I reflected on the hours and hours that I cried out to Him. I prayed and prayed and prayed until I couldn’t pray anymore. Page after page after page in my journal - crying out to Him and begging Him to just let me feel Him by my side again. I wasn’t asking Him to solve my problems. I wasn’t asking Him to bless me. I wasn’t asking for anything. All I wanted to do was feel Him one last time. Was this just a tiny glimpse of what Christ felt while He hung on the cross?


“Please, please, please God…just let me know that You are there! Put me out on the streets. Take my husband and children. Do with me whatever You desire. Just let me know that You are by my side!”


Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The rejection and sorrow was more than I could bear. All of my childhood nightmares, (which were actually my reality) didn’t compare to the pain and abandonment that I experienced now.


I curled up into my familiar fetal position. Pulling myself into the tightest ball I possibly could; the only position that I have known for the past several months. Hours upon hours I would lie in my bed in this position begging God to just kill me. Begging Him, pleading with Him. “Please God just take my life. Please God give me peace and rest. I can’t take anymore.”


Will I be able to do it today? Will I be able to end my chamber of horrors today?


The funny thing about suicide is that, at first it starts as just a thought. A scary thought. At first I was scared because I was stunned that I would even think of such a thing. Then I realize that I’m scared because suicide is the only option to escape the pain and torture that I am enduring each and every day.

Soon the thought becomes very comfortable. Like a friend who stops by every day to sit out on the front porch and chat. Then, it develops into a plan. How. When. Where. That friend, becomes my best buddy. I’m not scared anymore. I am in action mode. I even feel liberated because I know that I am taking steps to free myself from the misery that has engulfed me.

I begin to take action. It’s actually a thrill at first. That last rush of adrenaline that lets me know that my soul isn’t completely dead. I begin to become intimate with my “buddy”, Suicide.


The next week becomes my death march.

The first day I plot when and where my suicide will take place. The second day, I research how many pills I need to take for it to be fatal. The third day I make sure that there are enough pills in the house to do the job. The fourth day, I hold the pills in my hand. Looking at them. Inspecting them. Getting used to how they feel in my hand. Thinking about the power they have to set me free. The fifth day, I line the pills up and get a big glass of water. The sixth day, I hold the pills up to my mouth and envision them going down my throat and bringing me the peace I long for.

The seventh day - the day that I will finally break free from the torture that slowly eats me alive from the inside. I have the pills. I have the water. I’m more than ready. I pour the pills into my hand -actually doubling the dose that I know is fatal. I pick up the water glass ready to chug. As I get ready to fling the pills into the back of my throat, a vision of my children fills my mind. My beautiful, amazing children. What would my suicide do to them? Would they feel like it was their fault? Oh no, I couldn’t do that to them. I couldn’t handle knowing that I destroyed their lives. NO! I cannot inflict any pain on them because I know how devastating pain is. I put down the glass of water and put the pills back into the bottle and return to the comfortable fetal position in my bed. Devastated once again because I am unable to end my torture of misery.


As I thought back through the past several months, the anger begins to boil in the depths of my soul. An anger that I didn’t think that I was capable of. An anger that had been lying dormant for years and years, only to come to the surface like an erupting volcano.


“Where are you now God?!! The people at church said that you would never abandon me! You would never forsake me! You would be my shepherd! You would take care of me! LIES!! All of it lies!!! Are you enjoying yourself watching me suffer?! I ask one simple thing….only to feel you by me side again...only to know that you are there! NOTHING!!! YOU GIVE ME NOTHING!!! They say you are a God of mercy!! HA! I have begged you and begged you for months to end my life – to end the intense pain that burns within the deepest depths of me!!! You won’t even grant me that!


I jump out of bed, raising my fists at God and shout -


I HATE YOU!!!!! Do you hear me? I HATE YOU!!!! DIDN’T I SUFFER ENOUGH AS A CHILD? DIDN’T I ENDURE ENOUGH PAIN AND HURT??!! YOU CALL YOURSELF GOD?! WHAT THE HELL KIND OF GOD ARE YOU THAT YOU ENJOY SEEING YOUR CHILD SUFFER TO THE POINT OF DEATH?! I HATE YOU!!


I raise my fists and I scream as loud as I can, “GOD IF THIS IS WHAT BEING A CHRISTIAN IS ABOUT THEN BOTH YOU AND IT CAN GO STRAIGHT TO HELL!!”

“you are my child. I will never let you go.”

It wasn’t an audible voice I heard. It was more of a quiet, huge thought that filled every little space in my head. The millisecond that it happened, I clearly knew that it was God. There was absolutly no doubt when it happened and there is no doubt to this day.


An intense fear fills every part of me. (I believe I even physically cowered.) I wait for the lightning bolt to strike me down.


Then, an extreme sadness goes to my deepest depths. I know I hurt my Father. I fall to my knees sobbing uncontrollably and begging His forgiveness. My Daddy still loves me…. He is still by my side.


That was the first time that I had heard from God in months.

It would be the last time I would hear from Him for years.