A Sparrow's Selah

Content note: This entry discusses suicidal thoughts and a past suicide attempt

I have felt a pull to write a blog for years but could never get past the part of creating a name. Now that I’ve finally found the name, I almost couldn’t get past creating the first entry. Where does one start with something like this? I don’t want to focus on my past, but telling my story is a testimony of what God has done in my life. Maybe it can help other people.

When we go through times of great distress and darkness, we sometimes wonder, why? Why allow this, God? Why allow me to feel so very lost and confused? Why allow me to feel so utterly broken, useless, abandoned by people outside of the home, unwanted, an outcast despite my heart for people, and used by those who needed a friend but forgotten when I needed someone? Why allow me to feel unqualified for anything, with what seems to be no real prospects for my future? I understood that others were facing far worse circumstances than I was, yet this constant spiral became far too heavy, too loud, too out of control for my teenage mind. I was prepared to end the spiral by my own hands. I knew the when, the how, the why, and the relief that I told myself I would have.

When that time came, I was ready. I prepared myself so I wouldn’t lose my opportunity, but as soon as I went to act on the plan, I became paralyzed. I could not move my limbs. I was so angry. Inwardly, I was fuming, telling myself to do it, move, end it! I only regained movement in my body once that chance had officially and finally passed.

After that moment, I sat in silence realizing what God had done because I knew without a shadow of a doubt that only God could have done what had just happened. Then I became afraid, realizing what I had been so close to doing and how much that would have affected my family. Once my mind cleared, I promised God that no matter how dark it gets, I would never make that an option. Not only has it never been an option, but God has also removed that specific struggle altogether.

I want to take a moment to pause here and speak to the one who still carries that struggle, or to the one who has lost someone to suicide.

You might wonder, “How come Casey’s struggle was taken away and not mine?” Or “What about my loved one’s struggle? Why did God not take theirs away?”

Oh friend, I wish I could give you a hug. I do not know the answer to that. I don’t want my story to make anyone think that maybe they did something wrong or maybe they didn’t pray the “right words.” I don’t want anyone to question whether they have enough faith or wonder if God suddenly became deaf to the cries of your heart.

Yes, I am exceedingly thankful that He took away that specific struggle, but I certainly understand that agonizing question: “Why them and not me?” I have seen others receive healing from burdens that I still carry. I am so happy for them, yet I am left with those same questions. Seeing others receiving healing is a testament to God’s glory, but when healing passes over you, it can make you feel forsaken.

Please know that God will never leave you or forsake you. He is still with you, even though you continue to struggle. You are not a failure in that struggle. God keeps His promise that He is close to the brokenhearted, even when you do not feel His presence.

My friend, still fight, still lean into God, and please do not do this without help. Do not struggle in silence. Please, do not lose hope. Sometimes hope will feel like something you have to fight for, but keep fighting for it. Continue to cling tightly to His Hem.

To those who have lost someone, I can only imagine that your “why” is a weight that I can never understand. I cannot give you an answer, nor do I have words that could really comfort you. I also don’t want my story of deliverance to make this weight any heavier.

Please don’t believe they didn’t fight hard enough, or they didn’t have enough faith. I cannot fathom all the questions that fill your mind today. I do know that one day, in Heaven, we will see more clearly than we can from here. I know that doesn’t feel good enough for the here and now.

Yet, I also ask you to not do this alone. You are also welcome to pause here.

The Lord is still so very near your broken heart.

A few years later, I found the answer to my question: why? I had just graduated high school and went straight into college for Elementary Education. I didn’t pick that path because I pictured myself as a teacher, but because others told me I should, so I did. I was still feeling very lost in who I was. I was also obese at the time and decided that I would work on my health. I joined my college gym and went with a fellow student I seemed to have clicked with. I wasn’t excited about the college experience, but I was excited about the gym. I was excited to get something in my life under control. The first workout was going well. I saw a machine against the wall and I became very curious, as I do. I knew that it was never good to get on a machine you don’t know how to use. You could hurt yourself.

I timidly went to a few people, asking them if they knew how to use this giant machine. One woman excitedly jumped into action, explaining how much she loved this machine and that she would be glad to help me. She explained that it was a machine that assists you with chin-ups. “You face this way, your feet go here, and as you pull up, the bar you’ll be standing on will gently push you upward. I would just need to hear how much you weigh,” she said as she looked me up and down. Red flag. Embarrassed, I whispered how much I weighed. Her eyes widened. Red flag. She slowly went to the weights and studied them, her confidence gone. Red flag. Her hands fumbled over the weights. Red flag. She finally picked which slot she would put the peg in, quickly turned, and without making eye contact (red flag) went back to her treadmill. I thanked her, but she didn’t respond. Red flag.

I climbed up the steps and positioned myself as she had explained. Everything was going well. In fact, it was so much easier than I thought it would be. Following her instructions, I did all the sets, including the breaks she suggested, while remaining on the bar. After finishing the last set, I reached for the steps attached to the side of the machine and realized I couldn’t make contact. I reached again with my leg, farther this time, but still nothing. Then I noticed that no matter what I did, the bar I was standing on wouldn’t budge. I realized I was stuck. I was so annoyed with myself because I saw all of the red flags but chose to ignore them. I desperately wanted to do whatever it took to be healthy.

Though embarrassed, I called out, “Help, I’m stuck.” No one turned to help, not even my classmate. I called out again, but still nothing. I knew that almost no one was wearing headphones. It was a small enough gym for me to notice that from my new vantage point. I had no safe way of jumping down. From where I was standing, I couldn’t even reach far enough to get to the steps. I knew that I would now have to figure out how to get down on my own.

I dangled my left leg off of the bar and transferred all of my weight to that side, while my right foot remained on the bar. As I pushed my hands against the handlebars overhead, I finally felt the bar begin to lower, but only an inch. I found myself going into a split as my left foot searched for the ground, while my right leg was still being pulled upward by the weights. And that is the first and only time I have done the splits.

Somehow, my left leg found the ground, and I was slowly able to force the bar low enough to get my right foot off. Once that ordeal was done, I caught my breath and did a quick body scan. I felt fine. Great, in fact! Like I had a fantastic stretch. Everything seemed fine until the next morning. Getting out of bed was painful, but the pain became excruciating when I tried to put weight on my left leg. The pain was so agonizing, I could not walk.

A few hours went by, and I felt a strange feeling in my left hip and back. After that, I was able to walk, but the pain was still debilitating. Months went on as I searched for answers, going from doctor to doctor. The pain continued to get worse in my back and hips, so much so that I couldn’t keep my grades up, and my short-lived life as a college student came to an end. I had to drop out. Even though I didn’t think I was in the right major from the beginning, the grief of that being forcibly taken from me was heavy.

My life was stalled. The pain took away my independence because I never knew when I would need someone to get me a wheelchair. Driving became unsafe because of the pain. Some doctors told me they didn’t know what was wrong, while others told me this would be the rest of my life. I told people who I thought were friends not to pity me but to pray. In doing so, I hoped they would walk through this with me. It didn’t take long for most of them to disappear when they realized I was not getting better. I was 18, fresh out of high school, no job, no college, no independence, no church and no support system apart from my parents. Almost everything that darkened my mind in high school was forming in my life.

After a year of searching, my mom and I found a doctor who finally listened. We found out that I had hip dysplasia and that I could have gone my whole life not knowing it if my body hadn’t been pushed beyond what it could handle. They also believed that when I was getting off the machine, I was slowly dislocating both hips at the same time, and that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Because of that, the hip dysplasia that had been silent my whole life became symptomatic.

What was supposed to be three surgeries became seven between 2009 and 2015. I spent many periods of time on bed rest. It was rare to have visitors. After a while, the only people I would have conversations with were my parents when they came home from work and my doctors. The loneliness was heavy. Yet again, I will say, everything that darkened my mind in high school seemed to be manifesting in my life. I did not always handle it well, and I will talk about that in future entries. But not once did the struggle of ending it by my own hands return.

There was a very dark and painful moment during all of this when I realized that I hadn’t gone back to that struggle. Yes, I would beg God to take me home, but not once did I think about or plan how I would end it. Then it clicked. I found the answer to my question: why? God allowed me to go through that darkness as a teenager to prepare my mind and my heart for my version of hell on earth.

That pain never fully left. Today, I live with chronic pain that has now spread from head to toe, and at the moment, I don’t know why. Doctors haven’t been able to give me that answer. I am able to work, but it is not easy. I have gained a good portion of my independence back, but there are times when even that is threatened again.

If I had gone through everything I did from 2008 to the present without first going through that battle as a high school student, I would not be writing this today. I would not have breath.

We might not always get our questions answered this side of Heaven, but sometimes, when we pause and reflect on what God has done, we begin to see His fingerprints throughout the story. Maybe the challenge to you and me is to ask why less and reflect on God’s history more. We know He isn’t wasting our pain. In His hands, even our pain is not in vain.

I am not saying to stop lamenting. Do that, but don’t let your questions, grief, and lament keep you from remembering and reflecting on the ways that God has already proved His goodness and kindness in your story. In turn, I have found that a season of lament has allowed me to lay my burdens at God’s feet and redirect my eyes back to what God has done and continues to do.

Pause and reflect on the moments when, after walking through something very difficult, you were able to look back and see how God worked through it. Maybe you even began to understand why He allowed it. Maybe you saw how He used it in your own life, or even how your story became an encouragement to someone walking through their own.

Selah: Pause and reflect on the times you can see God answering your why. If you can’t see it now, I pray that you find courage and hope in knowing that even if we don’t receive the answers we desperately want on this side of Heaven, one day we will see more clearly than we can from here.

If you are struggling with thoughts of suicide or are in a place where you feel you may hurt yourself, please don’t walk through that moment alone. In the U.S., you can call or text 988 to reach the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline or use their online chat at https://988lifeline.org/chat/.