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wanting to hear us, so small, insignificant, and completely unworthy as we are. Somehow angels seem to be his fingers, his arms, his heart. To think of this makes it possible to let
the fear drop (or at least slowly go away) and to feel carried by
something far greater than it is ever possible to describe. In the
past I always shut out the whole idea of angels, but in this past
month they have suddenly become real to me. God sends his
messengers of comfort every day, every hour, to take the fear
and bleakness out of dying.

Emotional Suffering
    Twenty-five-year-old Rachel
was an energetic and enthusiastic
kindergarten teacher, when in the spring of 1995 she was suddenly
overcome by depressive thoughts and intense feelings of worthlessness. This progressed to delusional thoughts and bizarre behavior
and speech, as well as attempts at suicide. Rachel was counseled,
given both medical and spiritual support, and hospitalized. A few
weeks later, she was discharged, although it was almost a year
before she felt she was herself again. Significantly, throughout this
whole episode, she insisted, even when she was delusional, that she
was not going to be a mental patient. Her determination was
amazing. Eventually Rachel recovered completely; she was able to
discontinue all medications and resume a full-time job, and she has
had no relapse. In her own words:
    I had always enjoyed working hard and being with children, but
I gradually became more and more exhausted. I couldn’t seem
to cope with my work, and at night I could not sleep.
I was admitted to the psych ward on my birthday. I was
desperate, and I remember thinking that this would be my last
birthday – I was so sure I was going to die. But then I began to
meet other patients, people who were suffering much more
than I was, and that helped me to get my mind off myself. I tried
to keep busy, no matter how rotten I felt. I made myself get up
and do things. I even practiced my flute.
I’ll never forget how abnormal I still felt when I came home.
I could not stick to anything for any length of time, because one
of the anti-depressants made me very restless. I cried a lot and
prayed a lot. I felt defeated one moment and angry the next, but
I knew I would be able to come off all my medications eventually
because I had never needed them before.
I can never be grateful enough that I was freed from the
demon of that depression. For it was more than determination
that pulled me through: I experienced a freeing. People were
praying for it and God was there too, though at times it seemed
like he was very far away. But I am also thankful that I went
through this difficult time. It might sound crazy, but it has given
me a new outlook on life. Now, when people are sick, I know
what they are going through, and I can relate to those who are
suffering. I know what people mean when they say, “You can’t
do anything in your own strength.”
    Despite our culture’s reputation for tolerance, there is still a stigma
attached to suicide. Even as a topic of conversation, it largely
remains taboo. Most people are reluctant to speak about death,
and when it comes to suicide, they tend to avoid it altogether.
    No death is more distressing than suicide, and it is frightening
when a person seriously contemplates such a step. The prophet
Jeremiah reminds us: “A man’s life is not his own; it is not for man to
direct his steps.” Christianity has condemned suicide for a similar
reason: because it negates the possibility of redemption. Suicide says,
“I’m beyond hope – my problems are too big even for God to
handle.” It denies that God’s grace is greater than our weakness.
While such a view may seem understandable, it is deceptive because
it leads a person to believe that death will end the inner pain, when
in reality it is pain’s ultimate infliction. C.S. Lewis wrote the following to a