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Episode #17: Minicast: Recent Thoughts on Suicide

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Unconventional Wellness Radio
Unconventional Wellness Radio
Episode #17: Minicast: Recent Thoughts on Suicide
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Here are the numbers I talked about on the podcast if you are thinking about harming yourself. Do not delay call them now:

National Crisis Hotline: 1-800-273-8255

Veterans Crisis Hotline: 800-273-8255 and press 1

Hey everyone, this podcast is an ironic one. I am currently sitting in my resort hotel room in Puerto Vallarta but received a call this week while here about a new friend that has committed suicide.

I met her while she came to our church to become a new member. I had fabulous conversations with her, including discussing her upcoming baptism. Nonetheless, I never saw the pain and struggles she had in her life to end it abruptly.

Most of the time, we never do. We assume all is well becuase we don’t ask the questions. Well, I want you to know: YOU ARE WORTH IT. You deserve to life a long and happy life.

I have often said: suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Think about that: you can get the help that you need to get through your struggles. Talk about your story, get counseling – there is hope!


Where is the Church?

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Disclaimer: sorry to everyone who follow me for my recipes. I am not strictly a recipe blog. I post random things on my mind and off topic all the time. If that is, solely, why you follow me, just skip on over this post!

I heard this song, Why by Rascal Flatts, for the first time today and just couldn’t believe how it, perfectly, expressed so many of my thoughts surrounding my sister. For those who don’t know, my sister, Dinah, took her own life about 1.5 years ago. It feels like yesterday. Her boyfriend was very tragically killed in an automobile accident by a drunk motorcyclist who ran a red light. The next day, my sister became overwhelmed with grief, confusion, and darkness. I know that if she was thinking straight and could have a “do-over”, she wouldn’t have done this. It leaves so many questions behind for the family. There never feels like there is comfort at all in her death. Fate didn’t take her. Sickness didn’t take her. She took herself and in doing so, she took everything.

The death of mega-church pastor Rick Warren’s son has ripped open my Dinah-wound. His son at 27 years old made the ultimate decision to take his own life after dealing with depression for many, many years. My heart aches for the family because I know the pain and depth of their sorrow. My sister was 27 years old too…almost done with college…and was the happiest I had seen her in a long time.

I love God and I have a great relationship with him. But I do not love the church. In fact, I have so much hurt over the church that there are some places I cannot even go. My question is…when is the church gonna put down their ridiculous mask’s and start doing something? The church has lost it’s practical side and has stopped extending Jesus’ hands and started extending promises of prayers. Prayers are great…but they don’t cut it. Jesus got his hands dirty and touched prostitutes and lepers and mentally ill and depressed people. Who are we reaching out and touching? Bible studies and care groups and home groups only reach out to each other. When are our hands going to open from our little circles of “groups” and reach out to the orphans, the prostitutes, the widows, the hopeless?

When someone is struggling with thoughts of suicide, promises of prayer and intercession are almost laughable! They need more than that. We have people sitting in the pews that are literally screaming for help and you can see it in there eyes! LOOK at them. Don’t look away…look at people in the eyes and you will see the pain. Where is the church? I don’t know the answers, but I do know that something needs to be done to reach out to the lost a little bit better. We need to show more love, instead of judgment. We need to extend grace, instead of gossiping about someone’s shortcomings.

My sister was shunned by her church and her workplace because she went through a divorce. What kind of love is that? I just can’t keep quiet about this lack of grace and love the church has taken on. When will we start to see people again, instead of their failures? When will we start to get dirty again, wrap ourselves in each other’s life mess, instead of avoiding people with too much drama? Why do we think that getting messing in love is any different than what Jesus did? Weren’t His words something like this…

“He who is without sin may cast the first stone.”

I need Jesus friends. I’ve wasted my time with fake friends who run when life gets dirty. What a waste of time! Life is about getting through the crap together.

We, desperately, need help in today’s world. Where is the church?

Why by Rascal Flatts (listen to it on youtube here)

It must’ve been in a place so dark  you couldn’t feel the light
Reachin’ for you through that stormy  cloud
Now here we are  gathered in our little hometown
This can’t be the  way you meant to draw a crowd

Oh, why? That’s what I keep askin’
Was there anything I could have said or done?
Oh, I had no clue you were masking
A troubled soul, God only knows what went wrong
And why you’d leave the stage in the middle of a  song

Now in my mind I keep you  frozen as a seventeen year old
Roundin’ third to score the winning run
You always played with passion no matter what the game
When you took the stage, you shined just like  the sun
Oh, why? That’s what I  keep askin
‘And was there anything  I could have said or done?

Oh, I  had no clue you were masking
A  troubled soul, oh, God only knows what went wrong
And why you’d leave the stage in the middle of a  song

Now the oak trees are  swayin’ in the early autumn breeze
The golden sun is shining on my face
The tangled thoughts I hear a mockingbird sing
This old world really ain’t that bad a place

Oh, why? There’s no comprehending
And who am I to try to judge or explain?
Oh, but I do have one burning question
Who told you life wasn’t worth the fight?
They were wrong, they lied, and now you’re gone, and we  cried
‘Cause it’s not like you  to walk away in the middle of a song
Your  beautiful song, your absolutely beautiful song

My sister. My beautiful Maid of Honor. Actually, it was my honor to have her as a sister.
My sister. My beautiful Maid of Honor. Actually, it was my honor to have her as a sister.

Dear Suicide

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You took another this week. You must be proud. Well, guess what, I hate you. I hate you with every bone and ounce of blood in my body. You destroy. You rip lives apart. You steal truth and implant lies. You’re a coward. You’re scum. I hate what you do. I hate everything about you.

You wait; you linger; you hunt. I know your game. I know your way. I know what you do when you whisper, tempt and lead them astray. You make them think that death will ease their pain and that this is the only way. You creep right in, and then make your play.

You sit in the background and articulate your scheme. You choose the hopeless, the depressed, and those with low self-esteem. You choose the waiter, the plumber, the stay-at-home-mom.  You take the preacher, the truck driver, the rich and the poor. You take them all with you with your bite and your sting.

You laugh at their weakness. You thrive on their pain. You ruin so many lives that this has just become a game. How do you think this will end? Do you think that you can get them all? Do you think that all of us are going to take your fall?

You see, you took my sister and for that you are going to pay. It doesn’t end pretty. It doesn’t end today. Let me tell you something, this “game” that you play, won’t go on forever. No, you won’t get them all. You won’t win. I’ve got the Eight ball.

Your lies, deception, depression will end. You think you’re on a roll. You think you can snag every soul with your snare. I know you don’t want to hear this, but this doesn’t end well for you. You see, there is Someone stronger, Someone smarter, Someone more powerful than you.

He tells me He will save us from your snare, from your pestilence, from your death. He tells me He will cover us with His feathers. He will protect us, shield us, and save us. He promises life. He promises hope. He promises to save us from your hanging rope.

I hate you, suicide. I hate you, I do.  I’ll hate you forever…till the day that you are through and my King stomps all over you.

Memoirs of a Sister: Day 1

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I’ve decided to dedicate this next month of my blogging to my sister. Each day I’m going to post a random memory of Dinah until September 23, the day she died. I figured this might help me as we approach the one year anniversary mark of her passing. You see, I don’t want to forget Dinah, I want to celebrate her beautiful life.

And so here I begin…these memoirs of my sister…some may be beautiful. Some may only make me laugh. Some may bring you to tears. This is her life.

Growing up me and Dinah were just like most sisters. When we fought, we fought hard. When we laughed, we laughed so hard that our abs hurt the next day. And when someone disrespected us, we defended each other’s honor.

Dinah was arrested once. This makes me chuckle just thinking about it. Dinah and I were going to the movies one night and as we were standing in line for tickets, a really tall and muscular man was standing behind us. It was our turn to go buy our movie ticket and we were being loud and laughing (like we always were). I guess he was annoyed with us and he butted us in line and went up to the ticket counter. I said, “Excuse me, sir, it’s our turn and you just jumped in front of us.” He didn’t like that so he started yelling at me and walked over to me and called me a bitch.

I looked at Dinah and said to forget him. Then this man proceeded to come in my face and call me a “cunt”. Something in Dinah switched into protective sister mode and she ran over to this giant man (who we found out later had a black belt) and starting punching the living poo out of him. She ended up ripping his shirt and went all cat-woman crazy by kicking him where it counted! Oh my, this just makes me laugh.

Thankfully, the man didn’t raise a hand to Dinah. I ended up peeling Dinah off of him and the cops, who were already on the scene, separated us. The douch-bag pressed charges and Dinah was hand-cuffed and driven away in a cop car. I stood there in horror as to what I was going to tell our parents. I think Dinah was still in highschool and I was in college. We were both still living at home, so I drove home and had the honor of telling our parents that Dinah was just arrested. LOL…oh Dinah.

She was released later that night but went through years of community service and anger management! We never let her live the anger management part down!

I hold this memory close to my heart. Dinah protected me. She defended my honor even though the offender was HUGE.

She was fearless.

She was brave.

She was impulsive.

She was Dinah.

 

When deep cries out to deep…

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I’ve never understood the verse from the Bible that says, “When deep cries out to deep.” I’ve never known deep. What is deep? Is it the bottom of a sinkhole? Is is the deep end of the pool? Or is it the way someone describes a wound? A wound; cut so deep to the bone…piercing pain, severed and bleeding; a wound so deep that nothing seems to heal it.

My father cut his leg 2.5 months ago and it doesn’t seem to heal. His leg has become an allegory for my emotions and aching that I feel. Maybe his leg won’t heal because his heart won’t heal. The pain that the Dinah-wound has left hasn’t even began to scar over. I feel left open, bleeding, and infected with lies. You see, my Dinah-wound is big. My Dinah-wound is cut to the bone. My Dinah-wound is infected with lies that have been whispered into my ear over and over and over again. “This is your fault, Jackie. You could have prevented this.” “Where were you for her.” “Didn’t you see the pain and anguish that she was feeling.” “You could have stopped this.” What kind of sister are you?”

My ears have heard these lies for too long. My heart has believed them. I can’t live like this. I know these are lies but yet I turn my ear to them. It’s so easy to blame yourself even when things are completely outside your control. You see, blaming myself has only pushed the grief farther down. It’s only made me angry and doesn’t let me get to the part where the true healing comes. My Dinah-wound is just beginning to heal. I see the tissue begin to repair and rebuild. I see the infection begin to disappear. I see the blood drying over and the scab beginning to form.

Dinah left without saying goodbye. The devastation that she must have felt must compare to the devastation that my family and I feel with her loss. They say that at a year you should be getting over your grief, but I feel like mine has just begun.

The crushed and pierced hands of my Savior are fixing me. They are reaching down into the deepest parts of my wound and with each “stitch” they are grabbing the flesh and pulling it back together.

My Dinah-wound will never look pretty. It will never look like it did before. The scar will always be there to invite questions from strangers and glances from people who knew what happened.

Dinah took her life and with it she took everything. Everything that I once was.

Dinah & I on my wedding day

This last year I have buried myself into my own personal cocoon. It’s comfortable in here. The walls of my cocoon protect. The walls of my cocoon keep me from moving on. My walls keep me from accepting that my sister is gone. Gone forever.

However, my Savior is with me and has reached His wounded hands into my walls and is forcing me to come out. The patterns on my wings tell of my story. The scars on my body tell of my hurt.

There will be no open wound when He is finished with me. My Dinah-wound will heal into a perfect scar and will only add to the beauty of the butterfly that God is creating out of me.