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I read today that
suicide rates have increased over the past 50 years, worldwide and
nationwide. I think about it, and it makes me sad, but it does not
surprise me. Despite the rapid growth in technology and modern
comforts, people have not realized that such “luxury of this world”
cannot truly fulfill us. St. Augustine, a great saint of the 4th and
5th century, once wrote, “Our hearts are restless until they rest in
God.” During my short time here on earth, I have learned the immense
truth and importance of this saying.
As I said, it
makes me sad to know that people increasingly have thought life not
worth living, and that in despair, have believed their life
dissolute. But again, this does not surprise me because I tried to
kill myself too - twice, in fact. It is, therefore, no mystery to me
how a person can contemplate and attempt to end everything. Perhaps I
am writing this to dissuade others from taking the path I did; perhaps
I am writing this to heal the wounds inside. I don’t know. The only
thing I know is that I am writing to acknowledge the sometimes thin
and tenuous thread that binds me to this life, my faith.
I wish I could
tell you all about my life - my experiences, my sights, and my
thoughts, but our editors wouldn’t want me hogging up all the space
(not to mention the printing costs), so I will have to give you an
abbreviated background.
My mother and I
came to America in 1975, pretty much alone. We were poor and times
were hard. She worked long hours to put a roof over our heads and
often went hungry to give government cheese to her little sick and
malnourished boy. I grew up without a father and was constantly in
trouble. I ran away from home and missed getting kicked out of school
by a hair’s breadth. Things have never been easy for the two of us,
including our strained relationship. But the woman named Tin (Faith)
and her little boy Linh (Spirit) had God in their lives.
With certainty,
the only thing that came to me easily was my faith. Curious, because
my mother is not an exceptionally religious person, nor has any
particular person in my life significantly affected my faith. It has
just always been there for me. I find this a blessing, because I have
finally learned that it is only my faith that I need.
I think I have
been clinically depressed in one way or another most of my life. Yes,
I have sought counseling and have taken the various pills, but nothing
has helped me as much as my faith. The first time I tried to kill
myself was back in 1992. I had thought about it considerably and had
put some planning into it as well. I wanted it to look like an
accident, so no one would suspect and feel any guilt. I decided to
run my car off a highway overpass that ran about 50 feet in the air.
Well, obviously I didn’t succeed. All I managed to do was leave
myself car-less for some time. When I attempted to take my leave of
this world, the guardrail had two tiny metal pieces sticking up in the
shape of a cross. Both the guardrail and the tiny cross held, and I
am alive today.
The second time
was two years later. After my first attempt, I thought I would never
do that again. Not only did I feel stupid for trying to take my life,
I felt more stupid for not succeeding. I suppose that was my
depression speaking again; it was always telling me about the stupid
things I do. I thought to myself, “Well Linh, you survived that
experience. Now you know what it was like and how foolish it was.
You’ll never do that again.”
I was wrong. My
second attempt was not planned; it was not thought out. It was an
emotional act in a desolate moment. I used a brand new Exacto knife
and went to work on my wrist. In the clearest miracle of my life, God
intervened. I forced the blade into my arm with all of my strength,
but I managed only a small cut. It hardly even bled. In frustration,
I worked the blade even harder and more vigorously, conscious that God
was working against me. I even yelled at God - the only time in my
life�for not letting me have my way. After 15 minutes, I resigned to
God’s will. I learned never to directly oppose God again. The arm
that held the blade was sore for several days due to the prolonged
strain of opposing God’s intervention. Only a tiny scar remains to
remind me of the incident.
Perhaps you can
reduce the first attempt to good engineering and the second to some
subconscious desire not to really kill myself. But such reduction
will never diminish God’s work or His glory. Again, as St. Augustine
wrote, “As men write words, God writes events,” it was God saying loud
and clear to me that He still had work for me to do.
These days, I
still get depressed, but I am trying to work through it with God’s
help. Some days seem like there is nothing to live for, like a
darkness envelopes me, and I just want to hide somewhere and give up
altogether. But I remember God’s love for me. If all else fails, I
know with certainty that God’s love will never fail. I know that God
loves me without bound and without condition. He loves me in my
success and in my failures. He loves me in my moments of strength and
in my moments of weakness. And as He said to St. Paul, He says to me,
“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in
weakness.” (2 Cor.12:9) So in my darkest moments, I make a prayer of
my weakness and offer it up to Him.
My faith has
saved me, and my faith continues to save me. I may not have much to
show for in my life, but as I once said to a friend, if I wake up the
next morning, the day has been a success. And the only way I get
there is with my God and my faith.
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