Beth sat on the edge of the bed, slightly slumped forward, her elbows resting on her thighs, the gun limply dangling from her fingers. Bright, cheery sunshine filtered through the blinds of the bedroom, oblivious to the dark decision being pondered by a troubled soul in an even darker world.
At least, that’s how she thought of it. The world was a terribly dark, uncaring place, full of brutality and hatred and pain, and she no longer wanted to be a part of it. She had entertained the idea for quite some time, the idea that she could simply check out. End this so-called wonderful experience called life. The fact was, she was tired of it all. Tired of having to try so hard to make good grades in school, of all the work it took to please her parents, of hearing them argue constantly. Tired of dealing with all the idiots at school who were too busy wanting to lose their virginity as quickly as possible to form a meaningful friendship. Tired of all the broken promises. Tired of feeling like a worthless failure. Tired of suffering in silence. She was fed up and exhausted, and all she wanted was to go to sleep and not wake up. To die.
The bullet could do that for her. It could pierce through her skull, collide with her brain, obliterate its ability to function, and kill her, in the space of a second. As quickly as that, it would be over, and she wouldn’t have to deal with any of it anymore. She would likely feel no pain. Just bang! And eternal respite. The thought was very alluring, and it had led her to snatch her father’s gun from his closet, where he kept it in case of an emergency.
Then why hadn’t she pulled the trigger yet? Why was she still sitting here, consciously pondering the end, when she wanted it so desperately?
But she knew why.
Her thoughts drifted back to a happier time, when she had been a small child sitting on her Grandma’s lap. Grandma had always told her Bible stories growing up. Stories about a man being swallowed whole by a big fish, a donkey that talked, a bush that God spoke out of, an evil talking snake, a whole sea splitting in half, a little lunch feeding a whole bunch of people, and about people coming alive after they had died. But Grandma had been sure to make it clear that they were more than just stories. “These aren’t fairy tales,” she’d say sternly. And then, with a sparkle in her eye, “They’re as real as the two of us sitting here. Maybe even more real.”
Beth had never known exactly what Grandma meant by that, but she had believed her wholeheartedly.
They used to pray together, too. Back then, it all did seem real. Grandma told her that God was listening, not from some distant, unreachable heaven, but very close, “Just beyond what we can see.” That had led her childish mind to believe that God was playing hide-and-seek when they prayed, always hiding around the corner in Grandma’s little kitchen or the closet, just past where she could see.
She smiled despite herself, despite the gun in her hands, at the memories.
Then darker memories entered her mind.
It was a time in her life when she had begun to spend far more time with friends from school than with her family. To fit in. To create her identity, since she was now a young adult, or at least manufacture one. She no longer wanted to give her parents, or her grandmother, the time of day. It must have wounded the heart of the older woman deeply, for their bond had been a strong one. But Beth, being an average American tween, had simply been too self-absorbed to know or care. She no longer wanted anything to do with prayer or Bible stories. Creation didn’t line up with what she’d been taught in school. God had played hide-and-seek too well. No, she was far more interested in cute guys and going to the mall.
Her parents scarcely noticed the change in her, although her mom did give her ‘the Talk.’ They were too busy with their own problems. Rare was a family meal. In fact, they hardly saw each other at all. Her parents would often mutter something about work as an excuse to not spend time with each other. Little did they realize that their daughter bore the weight of being the only reason they hadn’t yet divorced.
She tried in school, but even when she studied her hardest, she barely made B’s. Once, she’d aced a test in English. “We should go out for ice cream to celebrate!” Mom said. They never did.
When her report card came in the mail, her mother had said, “Good job, sweetheart. We’re proud of you,” and given her ten dollars. Her father had merely grunted. He had dreams of her attending Yale, but she didn’t share them. She knew she was a disappointment to him. Her teachers always spoke of applying herself, but she did apply herself. Maybe she was just stupid.
Then there were her friends. They were alright for sharing laughs with, and they had some good times. They’d all go over to McDonald’s together after school and pool their money to buy fries. They made fun of teachers and talked about their crushes.
Sometimes she wanted desperately to let break the emotional dam within her, to cry with someone about all the things that were eating her away from the inside out. She knew her friends wouldn’t want anything to do with those things, though.
Deep down, she felt incredibly inferior to them. They all seemed smarter, prettier, with parents who loved them and each other. In a way, she hated her friends for that. She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t stop the feelings bubbling within her.
Everything was out of her control.
And then things got worse.
One Thursday at school, she was called down to the office. “Beth Monroe, please report to the office immediately,” the PA squawked. All of her classmates started to whisper about the trouble she was in. Her friends raised their eyebrows. The voice of the teacher trying to regain control of the class followed her down the hall as she apprehensively made the short journey to the office, where she was handed the phone. It was her mother.
“Hi sweetie,” came a voice choked with emotion.
“Hi,” Beth replied cautiously. “What’s up?”
“It’s Grandma, honey. She’s in the hospital...” Here her mother struggled for composure, and Beth’s heart seemed to cease beating. “She’s had a stroke, and it won’t be long.”
She wanted to ask, “Won’t be long until what?” But there was a sick certainty filling her chest about what her mother meant.
“I’ll be coming to pick you up just as soon as possible,” her mother was saying. “Alright?”
It wasn’t. Nothing was alright. But she mumbled, “Okay.”
She didn’t remember hanging up, or sitting down in one of the uncomfortable brown chairs in the office. She did not cry. She wanted to, or to get angry or something. She wanted to feel, but she didn’t want to feel. She was detached and numb, and couldn’t seem to change it either way.
When her mother picked her up, neither said a word. Mom was just trying not to cry so that she could see well enough to drive. “Aunt Jody and Uncle Bill are coming,” Mom said eventually. Beth didn’t reply.
At the hospital, Beth could hardly stand to look at Grandma’s pale form, lying there. The monitors said she was alive, but really, Beth knew she was already gone.
She hadn’t cried at the hospital, or even the funeral. She didn’t cry until the night after, as she lay in bed. The house was quiet; she lay there, and she wept. She wept for all the things she had never said, and for all the time she had lost. She wept mostly for herself, for she would never again see the only woman who had ever made her feel loved.
That had been over a year ago.
The pain of the memories gave her the motivation to lift the gun to her temple. Her index finger came dangerously close to squeezing the trigger.
But she couldn’t. All she wanted was to end her life, and she couldn’t. She could not bring herself to pull that trigger because she knew, deep in her soul, that it would not be the end. Despite all of her doubts, Beth knew her grandmother had known the truth. The woman had been no fool. The fact was, eternity awaited, and Beth wasn’t entirely sure where she’d be spending hers. God was real. If that was so, then there was some hope in this dark world, like the sunlight still piercing through the gloomy atmosphere of her bedroom.
But it also meant that she had denied the God of that hope. She thought of all the things she’d done. How could He forgive her?
She set the gun on her nightstand. It wouldn’t be going anywhere, and her parents were both at work. She made her way over to her dresser, took out a piece of paper, and sat back down on her bed to read.
My dearest granddaughter,
As I grow even older, you are growing up. And as you grow up, you outgrow me. When I was young, the same thing happened between myself and my mother. But I always treasured the things she taught me. It is my hope in the Lord that you, too, will remember the things I have taught you from the Word of God. They are life and hope and peace to the willing soul. You may not understand these things now, but I pray someday you will.
Remember that I love you, very much, and that God loves you even more. He is full of grace and mercy, forgiving the worst offenses, and blessing His children in the most wonderful ways. You have been one of those ways to me, dear one.
You know, your grandmother was not always as wise as I now am. In my lifetime, I made many foolish decisions. I suffered many injustices, and in those times, I questioned God. And the most marvelous thing happened, my granddaughter. In His way, and in His time, He answered me.
In every lifetime, there are many seasons: of doubt, of trial, of joy, of pain, and of glory. In every season, God is still God, and God is good.
I write this letter so that you may know these things long after I am gone. In fact, I do not intend for you to receive it until after I have departed. But do not sorrow, love. I have gone to the ‘real’ place, and it is beautiful here. I earnestly hope that we will see each other again one of these days.
All my love,
Your grandmother
By the time Beth finished reading, her cheeks were wet with tears. “Oh, God!” she sobbed. “Oh, God.”
Within her, something broke. She fell to her knees and wept. From the depths of her heart, she continued to cry the simple prayer: “Oh, God!”
With those two words, she poured out everything that had been building in her for years. “Oh, God!” Oh, God, I have denied You. I have sinned. Forgive me! Oh, God, I am broken. Please help me. Oh, God, I miss Grandma. Is she there with You? Oh, God, are You really there? Do You hear me? Oh, God, do You really love me? Oh, God, I want to love You too.
Exhausted, she collapsed on the floor. She was shaking. “Oh, God,” still, she whimpered.
Then she heard it, not audibly, but more clearly than any sound or sight or feeling in the world: the voice of the Maker of the universe. She trembled even more, and listened with every fiber of her being.
I love you, Beth. You are precious to me.
He had answered her! And He had forgiven her! He even knew her by name. She felt an incredible sensation, one that she was never quite able to describe. It was like relief, and joy, and sorrow, and awe, and humiliation, and peace, and gratitude, all intensified and rolled into one incredible feeling. It left her speechless.
A peace flooded her being, filling in all the cracks and reaching into the corners of her soul. She felt immensely satisfied. Soon after, joy rushed through her, spreading like a wildfire, making her grin so hard she thought she would burst. It was from Him, and it was beautiful and amazing and indescribable, just like He was.
“I love You!” she cried, laying on the floor of her room. “Oh, God, I love You!”
Suddenly, the world seemed like a different place. His love changed everything. She could feel His presence, as though His arms were wrapped around her, holding her, keeping her safe, never letting her go.
She sat up. The beams of sunlight still danced along the walls, and now she wanted to dance with them. She wanted to sing, to leap, to shout. She had come alive, and she wanted to live.
One Year Later
A year after Beth’s encounter with God, much had changed. She no longer thought of life as a burden, but as a blessing. She no longer saw herself as a failure, but as a small and unique part of His big plan. She was no longer alone, for God was ever present in her life, and she had made friends at the church she’d begun to attend.
Her parents had divorced. It had been hard, but she chose to forgive them, and thanked God that she had both of them in her life. They did love her, even if they didn’t have the best ways of showing it. Her grades were roughly the same as the year before, though she was improving gradually. Grandma was still gone. Circumstances hadn’t magically improved; it was her heart that had been changed.
Still, she sometimes struggled. Judging those around her was a bad habit of hers. How could they live their lives for such fleeting things? But, Beth often reminded herself, she once was as blind. Sometimes, she succumbed to the lie that she was worthless. God always had a way of reminding her that she wasn’t. She could hear His voice asking her, Would I have died for something worthless? She knew the answer. Ultimately, it was always His love that carried her through, no matter what she was facing.
Sitting in social studies, Beth smiled at the thought of His love, as she often did. Actually, it was more of a perpetual thing, smiling about God. At the moment, it was alright to daydream. It was a study-and-work day in class, and she had no work to do. They had had to list continuities throughout history, and she’d already jotted down everything that came to mind: women’s rights (or the lack thereof), the importance of agriculture, diffusion of technology and culture through trade exchanges, etc. etc. God.
“History,” her youth pastor had said, “Really is His story. He’s the one who started it, and He’ll be the one to end it.” And the more she looked, the more she did see God’s hand in the things she learned about in social studies. And in science. And in pretty much everything. Everywhere she looked, there He was. Even in math. After all, the Old Testament had a book that was called Numbers. “Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence?” she quietly quoted King David to herself.
Her pondering was interrupted when a classmate, Emily, plunked down in the desk beside her. “Hey Beth, could you help me out with this? I can’t think of any economic continuities.”
“Sure,” she smiled warmly. “Okay, so, what do you know about economics? Like, different types and stuff.”
“Well, there’s feudal...”
The two of them settled on trade between various different peoples with different economic systems. “That’ll be an A plus for sure,” Beth grinned.
“Yeah,” Emily agreed. “Thanks a lot.”
“No problem.”
“Hey, your parents are divorced, right?” Emily asked, suddenly and soberly.
“Yes,” Beth answered solemnly. “Why?”
Emily looked a bit uncomfortable. “Well, my parents are headed that way too,” she said with a slightly lowered voice, “And it’s...it’s just really hard.” She turned away, fighting emotion.
Beth’s heart ached within her. She felt God’s love for this young soul. Emily was going through trials so similar to her own, and without God, too. She put an arm around her.
Emily turned back with a brave face. “Like, how do you deal with that?” She swallowed. “You always seem so...happy.”
Beth smiled gently. And then she told her.
For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved.
John 3:16-17
You Are More
by Tenth Avenue North
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