It won’t be long before the second anniversary of my son’s suicide. In the year that has recently passed I’ve made several moves back to the Lord. It is only through his help that I am still here.

I never totally left the Lord Jesus. I gave my heart to him in 1975. I spent a lot of time after that ignoring him. I went off in my own direction. I rarely talked with him. I never asked his opinion. But, I never denied him and I always knew he was close. I never felt he forsook me.

There were times I went back to the church. I went for long periods of time, sometimes a couple years, rarely missing a Sunday service. I grew up with the hymns so I could sing them almost without reading. Then, something shiny would catch my eye. I would get distracted and start missing services. It wouldn’t take long to get off track.

But, I always knew He was there. When I called out to Him March 7, 2012, He didn’t say a word. There was no scolding. There was no, “Oh! Now you need me!” He never said, “I told you so.”

In the milliseconds between finding my son and realizing he was dead, I felt the Spirit of the Lord cradle me. Throughout all the crying, He cradled me. Through all the decisions, He cradled me. Even as I kissed my son’s face for the last time, He cradled me.

Luke Chapter 7:12-13 tells of Christ coming upon a burial procession. The deceased the son of a widow woman. Christ, filled with compassion for the woman instructed her to “Weep not.”

Weep not.

I am not a widow, and Christ did not raise my son, physically, from the dead. Yet, I still feel the peace of the Lord cradle me about the shoulders and whispering, “Weep not.”

By Robin A Holstein

Image courtesy of Salvatore Vuono / FreeDigitalPhotos.net