As I waited to speak to the young woman, recently widowed, I wondered what I could say to comfort her. When I stepped up to speak to her she fell into my arms, sobbing on my shoulder. My heart broke as I listened to her anguished cries and felt her toddler pulling at our skirts. "I'll never be the same again. My life will never be the same," she sobbed.
"No, you're right," I responded. "It will be forever changed." Holding her tightly like a mother should, I heard myself saying some unbelievable words, "But you are going to make it. You are going to be okay again, I promise."
How could I say these words in light of her dire circumstances? They came from deep within, from somewhere beyond my conscious thoughts. I didn't mean to say them; someone else was speaking through my mouth. Then, following quickly on the heals of the first, I heard these thoughts in my head. "Though forever changed, it will be changed for the better."
Wisely, I left these words unsaid, and like Mary, the mother of Jesus, I pondered them in my heart. All throughout the day, and the next at the funeral and burial, I kept hearing these words resounding in my soul. How inappropriate these thoughts were. "It will be better?"
The woman's husband had just taken his own life. She was left in a financial quagmire that would stagger the most astute accountant. She had three small children and no visible means of support. Thank the Lord, her husband had been in a discipleship relationship with my husband , and had actually asked Jesus to be his Savior in a parking lot with my husband only three months before. He was safe now. But I'm sure his wife had not taken that step.
All the more reason to be appalled at the compelling thoughts that her life would be changed for the better. And yet, I could not shake those words. They came from deep within my soul, from a source other than myself. I have to accept them as the voice of God.
By the time I got home that night, my husband out of town, I had no one to challenge the waves of guilt that were flooding over me. If I hadn't been so self-involved these past two years, if I had had them over into my home, entered into their lives, led this woman to the Lord, been there to show her how to pray for him, i.e. simply become involved in their lives, he wouldn't have committed suicide. I was sure of that. I hadn't done my part in this ministry of CBMC. I had been licking my own wounds, and been careless about the pain of others. Ministry had become too much for me. And someone died.
Okay, after a few days I came out of this distorted pattern of thinking that this man's death was somehow my fault. But I came out of it holding a golden kernel of truth.
I do have something to give to a sick and dying world -- my time, my attention. I may not have the answers to all their problems, but I can be there. I can show them how I pray when life overwhelms. I can share my dinner table and invite them into our lives. I can befriend those who appear not at all to need me. Because I was wrong in seeing this couple as having it all together. They appeared to be strong, optimistic, and on their way. But they were lost. No matter what they had, they didn't have Jesus in their life, guiding, guarding all the way. And I do.
A friend had a remarkable outlook on this young man's death--"His death could have more impact in this world than his life every could have." Christian businessmen are now contributing to a fund to help the young widow, and are becoming more alert to one another. A sense of community is emerging.
It certainly impacted me. I woke up to a long-forgotten truth -- My life was bought with a price. It's not I who live, but Christ now lives in me. And He is going after some lost people in this world, with my help. With my hands and feet, my limited capacities coupled with His "unlimited-ness" we can reach some who cross our paths. He needs me. What an interesting thought. It's enough to bring me out of the comfort of my personal cave.
