I picked up my phone in my usual mindless fashion, scrolling through vacations I could not afford yet, and cute puppies doing their cute things. Everything represented a place or state I wasn’t in, but wanted to be in. As I scrolled with increased speed, a caption caught my eye. Yes, Instablog has a way of writing sensational captions that sometimes never relate to the story. This one was different. It was about a cryptic note left by someone who ended it all.

Isn’t it sad that it takes stories like that to stop us in our tracks?

While I read through the letter, I noticed certain phrases; ‘Lost connection with God and the Devil had won’, ‘Feeling like he wasn’t enough’, ‘Afraid of letting people down’ (even at his death), and ‘Feeling like it was too late for him to seek help.’ It broke my heart.

It broke my heart because there are millions of people walking with these phrases playing on repeat in their minds. Years and years of conditioning taught us to keep quiet because someone had it worse than us. To keep trying to be someone else because who we were just wasn’t enough. Above all, to care about what everyone thought about us because all their voices mattered, except ours.

I feel sad whenever a sermon misrepresents God, or chooses to major in minors so that the hearts of men will never be clear of guilt. They unconsciously (or consciously) make it seem like the blood is just not enough to cleanse our sins and past errors. They make it seem like salvation is not a free gift but an ‘earned’ one. They make God feel more distant and unapproachable. Meanwhile, ‘The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.’ (Psalm 34:18).

No wonder many more people lose connection with God because who would want a father who hates them? Lies told over decades, becoming the foundation of our very identity and our society. Lies that God doesn’t love us, that we aren’t good enough, and probably never will be. We lack the love that the home or church should provide and we seek them out in anything that brings us remotely close to who we are or who we want to be—free, accepted, and loved.

I believe in giving eulogies to people while they’re alive. I believe in dropping flowers at their doorsteps. The dead can’t see that you left your busy schedule to show up at their funerals. They can’t smell the lovely bouquet of roses you got them. And they can’t hear the eloquent speech you prepared describing how fantastic they were. But you know who can? The living.

People need to hear these things. Remind your friends and loved ones how valuable they are, and how their lives add meaning to yours. You never know who is drowning in the dark. Save someone with your words, prayers, and acts of love and kindness. And hey, if you’re struggling in the dark right now, please cry for help. There’s strength in vulnerability. Help is closer than you know.

Lots of love,

M.