Death of me.

above: the clearest picture of my Chevy Corsica

I am not perfect. If you know my wife she will somewhat gleefully attest to this. So not being perfect there are of course stories that I would rather not tell you, skeletons in the closest. What I write in the next few paragraphs is not to make myself appear greater, nor is it to play on your emotions, but it is a story that if you resonate to, I pray you will find help and peace.

  I once owned a $600 1993 Chevy Corsica and let me tell you it was truly a terrible car! The tires would make a terrible screeching sound as they surrendered their duties around every corner. The headlights were dim because instead of buying fancy expensive bulbs to get that cool blue headlight effect, I being poor painted my reflectors blue. Cheap. Cool. Dim. Dumb. I would weekly repaint both the wheels and tires with gloss black paint to give them that “attractive” wet tire look. I wisely installed a “fart” pipe and cut the airbox so that it could gain more horsepower; unfortunately, all that did was make it louder and give it the undesirable ability to be heard from a few miles away. I made a custom grille and installed fog lights similar to a Ford Mustang GT, unfortunately when installed on my Corsica they did not have the same stellar appearance I was hoping for. 17-year-old Bryan’s car was definitely not stylish. I write all this back story on my style less car because I was in that car when this story took place.

  The night of the story, I had just come home from work, tired and frustrated from another day in what seemed like a dead-end job. I look back at the expectations I had on myself at 17, like did I really need a job that was a lifelong career? At 17 the world is wide open to you, but as you will see later that is not how I view it. After dragging myself into the house, a fight between my parents and I somehow began. Humanity is fallen, and this is not a story to somehow blame my parents, I believe very much that I am the largest stakeholder of the blame in this story. After an intense disagreement, I went out to my car to drive to the nearest stone quarry where I have been planning to throw myself from the highest point. Wanting to commit suicide is not a destination that I arrived at in one day. It was a journey on the road of sin, rejection, self-loathing, anger, and self-pity. My story is not everyone’s story, you may have been physically hurt, sexually abused, and misused. And even though our stories may not be the same, that quest for death and escape is woven through both. I sat in that car and cried. I would have to back out of the driveway so, I put the car in “reverse”, and then terrified I would shift back into “park”. Then once again in “reverse”, then “park”. There I was backing up 3 feet at a time, spiraling out of control. I do not claim to understand the depths of the spiritual realm. But at that moment there was the presence of evil (satan or a demon) in my car. “DO IT YOU FOOL, DO IT!” The pressure to give in to the escape seemed overwhelming. Every time the presence would yell “DO IT” I would dutifully back up the car 3 ft. I was losing.

  Then another Presence entered the car. And though this Corsica was not the splendor He’s used to, He nevertheless came to rescue His drowning child. I honestly believe that Jesus was in that car with me that night. A quieter but firmer voice drowned out the yelling simply by saying, “I love you”. I don’t know where my experience fits into systematic theology, and honestly, I don’t care. Those three words broke me. Those words had the power they did, not because I heard them from some girlfriend, family member, or world ruler, but because the Source of all Love drowned out the yelling with a whisper.

  I died that night, but now I am alive in Christ. If you are drowning, and suicide looks more and more appealing, I beg you first die to yourself, get the professional help you desperately need and follow Christ.