I had a thought this morning as I deliberated this post from May 10th:
My highest place of exaltation is often at my lowest point in life.
Entry from May 10th, 2017:
I made a promise to you in the bathroom last night, “I’ll give you a year, Lord.”
The desire to die to be with Bill is so overwhelming, I don’t desire to fight it’s pull. But these words in his final letter to me cause me to stay the course,
“I want you to be strong and live a beautiful, fulfilling life…”
“Lord, I am giving you one year to rekindle the desire to live again.”
I promised I wouldn’t kill myself even though I tried to propel my feet to sprint until my lungs collapsed and my heart stopped beating.
“Help me, God.”
Help. How do I do this, how do I go on when reminders of his fingerprint cause an ache so deep, it penetrates beyond the marrow, into my invisible soul.
I turned on Fox News this morning. I guess missing the routine of you. Yet, without your endless commentary at the screen, this made me sadder still.
I am scared. I stood in the bathroom last night, it was after I picked up your death certificates earlier in the day. They said you were there, somewhere beyond my sight, but your box wasn’t in yet. I guess some misunderstanding in shipping or something. So I left you there, and went to the bank.
I attempted to change the accounts with the simplicity you put on paper, but it was not that simple. They are requiring me to create a new account for just me. You made special passwords, like loved ones carve into wood of initials only significant to them. I had to change them.
I was in the bathroom last night, standing there. Feeling lost. I’m not sure who I was talking to, you or God, but I told one or the other this simple statement, “I will give it one year.” I don’t feel desperate to kill myself to be by your side, but I am not sure how to navigate in this sorrow. But not to be too impulsive, I will give it one year.
Later, Ky cries herself into my bed, and I comfort her. Her pain was delayed compared to the others. I knew this would come and find comfort in the fact she is opening up.
In the midst of her tears, she looks at me and asks me not to leave them. They need me. I don’t understand. How did she know I thought of leaving? She was not home when I was in the bathroom.
She says she’s worried I am going to kill myself. “How do you know?” She’s says she is not sure, intuition, or something like that.
Okay, God. We have a year. Beginning today. I promise I will not take my own life.
A couple days later, Ky comes with tear-stained-eyeliner-smudged eyes, and shares the truth of how she knew I was contemplating hurting myself:
She was standing in her bedroom and heard a voice say, “Go in there with her.” She wasn’t sure, but the voice sounded like her dad.
“Mom, I think I heard Dad.”
He declared in a loud voice, “Go in there with her”. In with me.
When she said through snot, “Don’t leave, we need you.”
How did she know? You God.
I held her close and told her that was her Heavenly Daddy. Isn’t it like HIM to use a voice she ached to hear to deliver a message of help to me?
God knew I needed someone to come in, not only comfort and encourage me, but to make me know HE is near to my brokenness ,and is with me through this, carrying me, comforting me.
He also knew Ky needed to hear her daddy’s voice, and hear her Daddy’s Voice.
I cling to this verse today in my reading:
Blessed are those who take refuge in him. Psalm 2:12