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There is a story I need to tell. It isn’t my story, yet I was asked to share it. I have prayerfully considered it many times. Rolled it around in my head, and my heart, for a few years. I did share it once, to a small group of young adults at a college prayer meeting. Afterward, I stuffed the papers back in a box and closed the lid. It was hard.

But doesn’t God call us to do hard things? I think so.

No. That isn’t correct.

The story is my mom’s story. It is her journey to Jesus. She gave me creative license and I will share a condensed version, but I will also include some parts that only she can tell.

She was so young, only 23, when she learned to live and not just be alive.

For weeks I had thought about my plan. I would put the children down for their nap, lock the door, take the phone off the hook, sit by the bathtub with the razor blade in my hand. If I was by the tub it wouldn’t make such a mess. My husband would be home from work about the time the children woke up. They would be okay. They would have to be. I am not a fit mother. I am barely surviving. How can I possibly care for a two and three-year-old? I love them so very deeply. But I can’t do this anymore. I just want the pain to go away. I want to die.

The plan was in motion. Everything was going accordingly. The children slept. I held the razor blade in my hand and sat on the floor in the bathroom. Then one of the babies cried out.

“No!” I thought, “This can’t happen. They never wake this early.”

The baby cried out again. I, too, began to cry. But I had to go see. My plan would wait for another day. Can I survive another day? I get up, put the razor blade away and go check on my crying baby.

The year had been 1973. She also shared with me how she got there, to a place of hopelessness and despair unlike any she had ever known. She had been raised in church. She learned about Jesus. She believed in Him and knew a lot of Bible verses. She thought she was “just fine.” Until all the “bad” started.

Over a period of a few short years, her world began falling apart. She was in a terrible car accident that left her traumatized and scarred. Her friend died in the accident. Two more close friends died in separate accidents about a year later. With each loss, she built higher walls around herself and her anger grew.

Eventually, she lost her faith entirely. If God was out there, she wanted nothing to do with Him. She cursed and rejected Him for the next five years, yet put a smile on her face and told no one. Depression set in and she finally told my dad that she needed help. She was admitted to the hospital for a week to rest and regain her strength. It was reasonable to conclude that she was simply exhausted from caring for two young children so close in age.

She slept. Her energy rebounded some and she came home. Shortly after though, the depression, crying spells, and thoughts of suicide all resurfaced.

Then one night everything changed.

I lay in bed, tears rolling down my face, more alone than I had ever been. More desperate than I had ever been. After five years of hell on Earth, I silently cried out, “God if you’re out there, if you’re real, please help me!”

A peace and a calm enveloped me. And as it did, His presence was there. He wrapped His arms around me and cradled me like a baby. And gave me a peace that I will always remember. He put me back together and made me whole. He was right there, just waiting for me. He had never moved, I had, as far away as I could.

For a long while after that night, He carried me. I was still afraid, but I held onto Him tightly. Little by little, I loosened my grip. I put one foot down and then the other, until I was strong enough to walk. The LORD helped me grow in my faith, until finally He didn’t have to carry me. We walked together, side by side. It was a lengthy process and only with Him did I get through it. He answered my cry for help and I will always be grateful for the mercy He showed me. For His forgiveness. It was at my lowest point and darkest hour that I felt closest to God.

The 23rd Psalm rings true for me. The Lord is truly my shepherd. He very truly restored my soul. Jesus is my Savior, my closest friend, my counselor, my doctor, my everything. My need for Him is as great as the air I breathe.

Mom believed the Bible, every word of it. She also believed in service to others, as it was a way of serving the LORD.

It has been almost five years since she met her Jesus face to face. I can just imagine her joy. Her story is not necessarily unique, but it is all hers. And in a way, part of it is mine too. I like to think I was the crying baby who changed her plans that afternoon. I say that with a wee smile, but my brother sleeps like a rock still today, so I don’t think I am assuming too much.

I recall many moments from childhood and even adulthood when I would catch Mom praying or find her reading her Bible. She would tell me tales of how she prayed for a close parking spot on a rainy day and how God provided one. He was up close and personal to her and changed her life one dark night in 1973. Of course, He would be up close and personal to her for the rest of her days.

Mom learned how to live and not just be alive. And it all began with beautiful and sweet surrender.

September is Suicide Prevention Awareness Month. Dialing 988 will route callers to a lifeline for help. Or also call 866-225-5180 for assistance with the ministry, Warrior 180.

Visit Julie at her website and blog at juliehlake.com. She’s also on Facebook and Instagram.

Visit Julie at her website and blog at juliehlake.com. She’s also on Facebook and Instagram.

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