|Joshua on the right and his friend Spencer|
“Cast thy burden upon the LORD, and he shall sustain thee: he shall never suffer the righteous to be moved.”
—Psalms 55:22 KJV
Classical music played in my mind every waking moment for weeks.
I began to worry that I was insane. I needed to talk to someone, but whom? Finally, I thought of someone who didn’t know about Joshua’s death. My old high school friend, Mary, came to mind, and I called her.
After catching up and a bit of chitchat, I said, “Mary, my son Joshua died by suicide.”
“Oh, Jean, I’m so sorry. Why do you think he did it?”
After telling Mary the reasons we thought he had done this, she said, “You know, Jean, about three months ago, the Holy Spirit pressed upon my heart to pray for you. And what’s odd is that I hadn’t thought of you in a few years.”
After we talked a while longer, we agreed to stay in touch and then hung up. I leaned against the wall and wept. Once again, the Lord showed me He stood watch. Even though I had not felt His presence since the day Joshua died, blessings proved He had not forgotten me. He loved me, His wounded and miserable child.
Father, oh, holy Father. You are good. You are holy. Please continue to show me Your love. In Jesus’s holy name. Amen.
A Mother’s Memories
I knocked on Joshua’s apartment door.
His muffled voice came from within. “Who is it?”
“It’s me, Son.”
Without opening the door, he said, “What are you doing here? You should have called first.”
“Son, open up. I got worried when you wouldn’t answer your phone. I’ve been calling you for several days.”
Joshua opened his studio door a crack. “Mom, the place is a mess. Can’t you come back?” His face was pale.
I said, “Are you okay?”
In answer to my question, Joshua threw open the door. What I saw alarmed me. The bed was unmade. Clothes were strung everywhere. When I went to use the restroom, it was filthy. I couldn’t see the kitchen counter for the piled dishes. So shocked at my normally tidy son’s place, I couldn’t say a word. Instead, I prayed.
Joshua moved back home within the month, on January 1, 2004. Without any warning, he started bringing home his things. He grew more solemn and sad with each passing day.
Father, please, please give my son hope. The day he moved back home, I knew his six months of independence had not worked. God, only You can help Joshua. Only You know what he is thinking. He’s shutting us out; please help us. In Jesus’s name, I beg. Amen.
~Your Mother Memories~
~Your Prayer of Praise~
~A Scripture of Encouragement~