It has been about a month since I posted here so I wanted to give an update. As I mentioned in my previous post, which was initially sent out as a newsletter, I am in the process of recovering from an extreme crisis. In hindsight, I see that I was in the darkest place I have ever wandered. My life is marred with grief, loss, addiction, hopelessness, and suffering. Even under these terms, I acknowledge that I have “had it easy—” that is, I know that there are others who have suffered far worse than I have. You never know what someone else is going through or from where they have come, unless that is revealed to you. In the past several weeks, I have been reflecting on where I come from and where I am going. In short, I have determined that my life is a life worth living.
Five years ago, my mother was diagnosed with stage 4 liver cancer. In the weeks leading up to the diagnosis, I was sure that I was about to experience my best days. I had just graduated high school, after dual-enrolling at my dream school and receiving my diploma and Associate of Arts. I was hired as a coach for the swim team I had been on for several years. I was doing excellent with my full-time job. I was accepted to the same school’s political science program (I was extremely passionate about politics at the time—gross!). I met a girl at my job who I was certain was “the one” for me. Things were going marvelous, and then my best friend, my mentor, my rock was given just a few weeks to live.
I will never forget the night I received the news. My mother called me to her room, closed the door, and explained the diagnosis to me. She recited Job 14:5, which speaks of God knowing the number of our days. She explained that she remained faithful to him and his will for her. She told me that she loved me and gave me a hug that I can still feel to this day. I did not know how to process this news. I remained calm, then went to my bedroom and stood still for a moment. Shortly thereafter, I collapsed on the floor, bawling my eyes out.
Depression entered me, and it has not yet decided to leave. The most obvious signs were the loss of weight and hair. I started drinking heavily. I lost the girl. My family started to fall apart. The only thing going well for me was my job at a grocery store. After the summer semester of studying political science, I quickly learned that I passionately despise American politics and wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. I was ready to drop out and pursue a career with my company, following the footsteps of many of my siblings. But my terminally ill mother would not let that happen.
I told her my plan to drop out of school. She did not want to hear it. She had homeschooled all twelve of her children, but I was the only one she taught from kindergarten to high school. She worked extremely hard to instill a passion for research and writing in me. And of course, I realized I could not let that go to waste.
As we all know, when we suffer, we learn to heavily rely on faith. Whether that is faith in God, in the people closest to us, or even just the faith in knowing that the darkness is only temporary. I had started attending a small Methodist church just months before mom was diagnosed. The church played a special place in my life and I eagerly became involved. In all honesty, I was a bit of a “Jesus Freak” at the time. My beliefs were of vital importance to me at the time, and religion was the other subject I always excelled at in school. After about a week of deep thought, I decided to pursue a degree in theology.
Central to this decision was the question I now deal with in every post on Living by the Logos: why do we suffer? How is it that a loving, merciful God could allow his obedient follower to suffer a terminal illness? How is it that the same God could allow an entire family to collapse at such devastation? How could he allow me to suffer when I was earnestly trying to follow the faith my mother possessed? How is it that he could create an entire species and subject them to endless suffering, from birth to death? Why does God allow suffering?
In this post, I have included a picture of a painting I started around the time I decided to study theology. Art and music have always played a tremendous role in my life. When my mom was sick, I found a new meaning in one of my favorite albums. The Christian rock band Red was and is one of my favorite groups. They released an album when I was going through a hard time in high school titled “of Beauty and Rage.” When mom was sick, I returned to this album and appreciated the deep insight conveyed on the record. There is beauty and rage in every aspect of life. There is good, there is evil. There is suffering, there is hope. There is hate, there is love.
This post is a bit of a mess. I am trying to explain the heart of who I am as a person, where I come from, and where I am headed in just a couple hundred words. There is so much more to expound upon, from this dark chapter in my life to the one I am seeking to close. As I have crawled from the pit of despair once more, I have found myself reflecting on the summer of 2018. At the time, I knew the road ahead was going to be dark and rocky. But I maintained hope that the good always overcomes the bad.
I mentioned in the previous post that I attempted suicide in April. It was not the first time. This time, it has been especially difficult to recover and find myself again. But take this as a word of hope in whatever you are going through right now: darkness is only temporary. You may only see the rage, but always seek to find the beauty in life. Whether that beauty is in God, in others, in nature, or anything else, always seek it out. It may not be apparent, but I can promise you that it is there.
It has been a great several weeks since I last posted. I have more than appreciated the support of those closest to me. I have seen a marvelous difference in the things I have struggled with. I have been able to appreciate my life. I have learned to appreciate the good times as well as the bad. I have been able to reconnect with old friends. I have learned to appreciate the past and embrace the future. Most importantly, I have been able to cling to the words that concluded my last post: there is hope. There is always hope.
I am still fighting my way back. That being said, my posts will likely remain infrequent for a bit longer. But I appreciate your support and the time that you have taken out of your day to read this blog and understand who I am. I hope to write to you soon. Until then, I will remain focused on the fact that my life is certainly a life worth living.