"He stepped aside and tried to make a few calls. Hugging his daughter and grabbing his head, you could tell he was heartbroken. This woman next to him at the front counter heard the whole thing."
"I could feel hot, salty tears coming down my face. I sat and cried silently... I was scrunching myself up against the wall as far as I could. All of a sudden, someone from behind us taps on the guy’s shoulder..."
In churches across America, a quiet but consequential conversation is unfolding. It often begins with a question—sometimes whispered, sometimes posted publicly on social media....
As children of God, we feel like when we fail God is absent, sitting up high on a cloud, smirking over the idiocy of His creation. We cower under fear of this cruel world because we think we are alone. We assume Dad has left us to our own devices.
As a Christian who has also struggled with depression to the point of putting a gun to my head at age 21, I am bewildered and bemoaning the loss of his life. Unfortunately, this tragic loss is a harsh reality of depression yet a beautiful reminder that Jesus is greater still.
That’s where our problems lies, ladies and gentleman. We are a generation of busy Christians, Christians much too hurried to have time for the Bible. We assume Sunday is enough, flipping rapidly through whatever verse the preacher reads out loud, forgetting that the man on the pulpit is also just a man.
