On the Anvil - Max Lucado [11]
He had tried twice before to kill himself but had failed. This time he didn’t fail. What makes a fellow do it? I really wonder. What made him finally get the courage to do it? Juan had breathed the exhaust of his own car.
Two days earlier I had run into him at Swenson’s Ice Cream Parlor.
He was there with some friends. We laughed some.
He seemed to be doing so well. (Where do we learn that pain is something we have to hide?)
What emotions do I feel?
Confusion. The black veil of hopeless death falls viciously. Why? How horrid it is to be governed by laws we don’t understand.
Guilt. You see, we were originally scheduled to have lunch on May 6, but I had postponed it to May 7. I can’t help but wonder, What if I hadn’t canceled? But the guilt will pass. I know too well my own failures. The inability to forgive oneself is itself suicidal.
Clarity. How death clears the fog! The abrupt departure of life starkly reminds me of why we are here. Death causes all other preoccupations of life to tumble down the hill, leaving at the top this one priority: Jesus Christ rose from the dead and God has forgiven my failures. When all we have to face is death and all we have to remember are memories, Jesus’ victory and God’s forgiveness will be the only things that matter.
Why am I writing this? It comforts me, for one thing. For another, I want you to know how terribly vital each person in the world is. I loved Juan. In a small way, this is a tribute to him. He was a victim of despair. He wanted a life he couldn’t have. He had a life he couldn’t handle.
Juan was caught in a shouting match between the world on one side and a handful of us on the other. “Life isn’t worth it!” screamed the world. “Yes it is,” we yelled back. “No it isn’t.” “Yes it is!” And there was Juan in the middle, caught and confused. He’d look at us—then at the world. A puppy between two masters. Finally, we were outshouted. “You’re right, it isn’t worth it!” He despaired and jumped.
But we can’t quit shouting. Many may ignore us, but many will hear. And if only one hears, isn’t it worth it?
Do you know someone whose words or actions betray a sense of despair? What could you do to extend an offer of hope?
Are you caught between two masters in any aspect of your life? What are they—and which master do you want to serve?
20: Life from the Press Box
It made sense, after someone explained it to me, why our high school football coach would always disappear in the middle of the third quarter. I remember during my first game on the varsity squad, I looked up from the sidelines (where I spent most of my time) and noticed that he was gone. (It was a lot quieter.) I couldn’t figure out what had happened. I was afraid the other team had kidnapped him. Or maybe he had gotten sick on his chewing tobacco. So I asked a senior “sideliner.” (They know everything.)
“Where’s the coach?” I asked, thinking I was the only one to notice his absence, which made me feel important.
“In the press box,” he answered.
“Getting coffee?” I asked.
“No, getting perspective.”
Now that makes sense, doesn’t it? There’s no way a coach can really keep up with the game from the sidelines. Everyone yelling advice. Parents complaining. Players screaming. Cheerleaders cheering. Sometimes you’ve got to get away from the game to see it.
Occasionally we need to try that on ourselves, too. How vital it is that we keep a finger on the pulse of our own lives. How critical are those times of self-examination and evaluation. Yet it’s hard to evaluate ourselves while we’re in the middle of the game: schedules pressing, phones ringing, children crying.
I’ve got a suggestion. Take some press-box time. Take some time (at least half a day) and get away from everything and everyone.
Take your Bible and a notebook and get a press-box view of your life. Are you as in tune with God as you need to be? How is your relationship with your mate and children? What about your goals in life? Perhaps some decisions need to be made. Spend much time in prayer.