If only I could join them, he thought.
Since the discovery of diamonds, thousands were dropping everything to join the search for the valuable stones. But not the farmer. There was work to be done. Fields to be tilled. Livestock to be fed.

Yet the promise of great wealth kept him awake at night and turned his tasks to drudgery. One day, when a complete stranger offered to buy his farm, the farmer agreed with a handshake.

At last, he was free to pursue his dream.

The search was long and painful. Trekking kilometre after weary kilometre across deserts and plains, he searched for the elusive diamonds. None could be found. Weeks turned to months, months to years. Finally, penniless, sick and utterly depressed, he took his own life.

Back home, the man who had purchased the farm carefully tilled the land. One day as he was planting a crop, he came across a strange-looking stone. Carrying it to the farmhouse, he placed it on the mantel.

That night, a friend noticed the unusual stone over the fireplace and picked it up, turning it over and over in his hands. Finally, he turned to the new owner of the farm and said, “Do you know what you have here? This has to be one of the largest diamonds ever found.”

Further investigation proved him right. The farm sold by the first farmer turned out to be one of the richest, most productive diamond mines in the world.

The times haven’t changed much, have they? Just like the man who was so quick to sell the farm, too few of us take the time to investigate and polish what we already have. In our disappointment with the way things are, in our quest to get ahead, we fail to recognize the wealth in our own backyard.

Turning the Clock Back
Recently I met Andrew. A successful insurance and investment consultant, he spent the last 20 years of his life “searching for diamonds.” Eighteen months ago, he made his way back home. But by then, his house was empty. A note on the kitchen table told him why: “You were never here anyway. Goodbye.” His wife had taken their teenage son and daughter and moved 1,500 kilometres away, leaving Andrew with a sprawling ranch, two speedboats and an antique car collection. “I have absolutely everything,” he told me. “It’s all paid for. But I’ve never been so empty. I didn’t know what I had until it was gone.”

Six months ago, suicidal and desperate, Andrew fell to his knees and prayed, asking Jesus Christ to change him, to forgive him of the past and help him face the future. “This may sound crazy,” he told me, “but since that day, I have experienced more peace than I did during all those years of success. In many ways, my life is the most chaotic it has ever been, but every morning I take my worries and concerns to the living room and I spend an hour on my knees trying to leave them with God. Sometimes I find myself picking them up again during the day, but I’m learning to trust Him to take care of my family just like He’s taking care of me.”

Today Andrew is doing all he can to reconcile with his wife and children, but he knows the road ahead is steep. “I thought I was giving them everything they needed,” he says. “I guess what they really needed was me.

“I was so busy building an empire,” he continues, “that I forgot to build a home. I was so busy working on multi-million-dollar deals that I hardly had time to buy my friends a cup of coffee. I would trade all this stuff in a heartbeat for one good friendship.”

I wish I could turn the clock back for Andrew. And sometimes I’d like to turn it back for myself. But like Andrew, I’m learning that it is relationships, not ranches, that make us rich. I’m learning that we make a living by what we get, and we make a life by what we give.

Visit popular author and speaker Phil Callaway online at www.laughagain.org.

Joshua suffers from autism, which was diagnosed when he was five years old, though I’d had my suspicions before that. He’d have screaming fits if his sandwich was cut differently from the day before, and he had problems dealing with social situations.

While the diagnosis of autism was a relief in many ways—we finally knew what was wrong with him—it also presented its own set of difficulties, as that day in the store demonstrated.

Back to School
My priority had always been Joshua but I’d felt God’s call to become a full-time minister since my 20s. As the child of Salvation Army members, I’d grown up in a religious family but when I’d married, I’d shelved those dreams. After my husband and I divorced, though, I couldn’t ignore God any longer. I decided to enter The Salvation Army’s College for Officer Training (CFOT) in Winnipeg to become a pastor.

But not without misgivings! Joshua doesn’t handle change well. We’d be moving to a strange new place and he’d be far away from the large family support network we had in Georgetown, Ont., where we’d been living with my father and stepmother since my divorce. How would all these changes impact my son?

I couldn’t run away from God, though. He’d been too patient and persistent. So I applied to CFOT and I was accepted in the autumn of 2008.

Support and Encouragement
Whatever apprehensions I had started to dissipate that summer. The college administration went out of their way to smooth the path for Joshua and me, allowing us to move into our quarters a month early, all the better for Joshua to become familiar with his surroundings.

Complete strangers took an immediate interest in Joshua. On the first day of class, a couple from Bermuda approached me in the hall. They didn’t know me but had heard about Joshua’s special needs.

“We just wanted you to know that we’re here to support you in any way we possibly can,” they told me. “Where Joshua is concerned, don’t be afraid to call on us.”

A Child Blossoms
While I was thrilled to be at CFOT, I still fretted about how Joshua would react. We experienced a few difficulties in getting Joshua settled in school, but even at that, Joshua’s transition occurred far quicker and far more smoothly than I had dared hope.

Joshua blossomed at CFOT. Because of his social deficiencies, he’d never made friends easily, nor had he ever been interested in birthday parties or play dates.

But Joshua’s social skills grew in the community atmosphere at the campus. He went from barely grunting at my fellow students to actually initiating conversation with them on a daily basis.

Soon after our arrival, he struck up a friendship with schoolmates whose parents were fellow students of mine. The continuity that CFOT afforded enabled him to make friends for the first time in his life.

Soon, children would knock on our door asking to play with Joshua, or he’d go over to somebody else’s house to play.

Joshua has grown spiritually as well. Under the tutelage of Debbie Clarke, his Sunday school teacher, my son finally started to enjoy class. He was even willing to dress up as a shepherd and stand in front of the chapel audience during the CFOT Christmas pageant this past year and has taken part in the youth church services.

I had enrolled at CFOT for my own development but I’ve come to realize that Joshua benefited from his time there as much as I did. Its unique environment allowed growth that might never have happened for Joshua otherwise. As I prepare to become a pastor, I’m hoping that he will be a part of my ministry in some small way.

Home at Last
A telling incident for me occurred the first time we travelled back to Ontario for the Christmas holidays after moving to CFOT in August 2008. We were returning to Winnipeg and as the plane touched down, Joshua looked at me and said, “It’s so nice to be home.”

My boy is 11 years old now and he’s looking forward to what God has in store for both of us. This month, I will be assigned to a church. Before, I would have looked upon this with trepidation, but now that Joshua has managed one transition, he seems quite content about the move to come.

“Where are we going, Mom?” he asked me. I said I didn’t know yet. While CFOT is home now, and we love it here, home is not a place so much as where we both are. And Joshua is just fine with that.

Oren Cole and his father in Lewisporte, N.L., in 1951

He slid behind the steering wheel and drove carefully down the street, the truck swallowed up by the foggy dawn.

That was my dad, moving quickly, with purpose, driven by a commitment and a responsibility to his family, awake when most of the world slept.

Dangerous Delusion
For two decades, my father had been very active as a Salvation Army pastor in Newfoundland and Labrador, but some serious health issues had forced him to leave the work with an honorary pension. But while his health improved, his finances didn’t. To make ends meet, he became a travelling salesman.

During my high-school years, I still watched as my father went to work. He’d go on sales trips—campaigns, as he called them—for days and weeks at a time. Without complaint, he kept the kitchen filled with food, made the house payments, dragged me to church on Sundays, drove us to visit relatives. Maybe it was because these scenes seemed so ordinary that I never remarked on them, or wondered at what motivated my dad to do what he did.

When I left home to pursue my studies and a career, Dad’s presence became merely a voice on the phone, a name scribbled at the end of a letter stuffed with a cheque. In my selfish adolescence, I sometimes thought that other men were more significant than my dad, those men who taught university classes in accounting or the supervisors who taught me about the banking industry, men with titles and authority. It was then that my dad’s importance lessened somewhat. I was deluded into thinking that degrees and accolades, power and money outweighed the achievements of my father.

In a Different Light
But as I entered the business world and started to provide for a family, I began to see life from a different perspective. I rediscovered my dad, not as a boy in awe, but with respect as a man.

When I awoke in the early morning, forgoing my own needs while working three jobs to provide for my wife and three children, I realized I could do this because of what my father had done for me. His example, his influence, his integrity, had left an impression.

I now realized a truth I’d never thought of as a child: unlike professors or superiors, my dad—a man who’d committed himself to God and to his family—had always been there for me and will always be with me.

Legacy of Love
Now when I spend time with my own son, at home, at church or at work, I wonder what he thinks of me. How will he measure my strengths and weaknesses, accomplishments and dreams? At what point will I slip away from his world of important men, and at what point will I return to him with a nod of understanding?

Sometimes the simple lessons are the most difficult ones to teach, and the essential truths are the toughest to learn. I only hope that one day my children will absorb the lessons and truths that have filtered down to them through my father’s influence.

My father is gone now, but he left some things with me. He left me his smile. He left me his compassion, his honour and his reliability. He left me a desire to love and serve God. And he left me a father’s love. I’ll always cherish that.

Welcome Refuge
I started using drugs at the age of nine, a year after my father died. I had an abusive, alcoholic stepfather and by the time I was 15, I was living on the streets. By my late teens, I was a petty criminal who had been incarcerated a couple of times, and my alcoholism and drug addiction had escalated.

Once I arrived in Vancouver, two things happened. I was isolated from any family or support network I’d had in Ontario, and I got hooked on cocaine and heroin. Things went bad fast. From 1986 until 1989, I was homeless, doing anything I could to survive on the streets.

But throughout this entire period, whether I was in Vancouver, Winnipeg, Toronto or points in-between, whenever I hit rock bottom, whenever I needed a warm coat, a bellyful of food or a dry place to sleep, I knew I could find a refuge at The Salvation Army.

I didn’t come from a religious family, but I always felt that when I was with this loving, caring group of people, I was in the presence of God.

Religious Junkie
In late 1989, my mother came to visit me in Vancouver. I’d always told her I was doing well, but she took one look at me and knew the truth. She never mentioned my alcoholism or my addiction. She just said, “C’mon home, son.”

She was smart enough to disguise her offer of a plane ticket as a Christmas gift to spend time with the family, because if she’d said she was bringing me home to get clean, I’d have said no.

I always felt that when I was with this loving, caring group of people, I was in the presence of God

But the move back did achieve its purpose. Back in Ontario, though I didn’t get clean right away, I was away from the drugs and the crime. My determination not to settle for the life I led did the rest.

I entered a detox facility in Kingston, Ont., and from there, a treatment centre in Belleville, Ont. The six-week program stretched to six months. Months turned into years of sobriety and increased self-esteem.

A high-school dropout, I was encouraged to continue my studies. I enrolled in a business-marketing program, where I excelled. I took the street skills that had kept me alive for three years and transferred them into success in business.

But though I had been rescued from my addictions, I didn’t have faith.

I became a religious junkie. I began to explore everything from native spirituality to Zen Buddhism but was never fulfilled by anything. It was all very interesting to learn about different religions, but I hadn’t found God.

Joe Roberts: “When I let God in, I was flooded with peace”

Letting God In
With five years of sobriety under my belt, I was determined to help others like me, addicts who were trying to escape their own private hells.

One man, despite all of my efforts, kept sliding back into the world of heroin. He was serious about quitting but innumerable roadblocks faced him at every turn. I did everything I could to help and encourage him, but my best didn’t seem to be good enough. I didn’t know what else to do.

So I made a deal with God.

I prayed—for the first time in a long time—to Christ, not to Buddha or Allah or the Great Spirit or whoever else I had read about. “OK, Jesus, help me out with this guy,” I said. “If he can stay clean for 48 hours, I’ll check You out.” In retrospect, it was quite presumptuous on my part! I should have known that God doesn’t do bargains. But I gave God my word. And when I’d been on the streets, my word was often the only thing I’d had going for me.

In spite of my audacity, God chose to show me His grace. Within 48 hours, all of the roadblocks facing this man were lifted, employment opportunities long denied him were suddenly available, red tape that had tied him was unbound, and all in the two days directly following my prayer. All I can remember thinking at the time was, “This is a miracle.”

I had made a deal, and now I had to keep my end of it. I went to the one place where I knew I would find Christ and people who would teach me about Him, and that was The Salvation Army Harbour Light in Vancouver. Thanks to devoted people such as Major Sam Fame, my Bible studies and prayer—lots of prayer—I came to know Jesus Christ in a very personal way.

It didn’t happen immediately. I didn’t have the instant conversion that some Christians talk about and I can’t recall the day it happened, but I can remember letting God in. And when I did, I became flooded with a peace and a sense that everything was going to be all right.

The Gift
That happened in 1995, and for the last 15 years, I have been happier than I’ve ever been. Today, I’m married with two daughters. I have been blessed with success in the business world and now I share my story of faith with other businesspeople, for even in the corporate world there are people who live lives of quiet despair. I also speak at local high schools about what I went through. If I can save just one young person from going down the path I did, it’s worth it.

It turns out that I was never searching for God because God wasn’t lost. He was with me the entire time. It just took me five years of recovery to recognize that.

I know now that I am here, alive, because of God’s grace, a gift I didn’t deserve and a debt I can never repay. And every day I wake up determined to be worthy of that precious gift.

Will Shrek reunite with the ogress of his dreams?

In Shrek Forever After, our hero, now a family man feeling trapped in domesticity, is tricked into signing a pact with the smooth-talking Rumpelstiltskin. Shrek suddenly finds himself in an alternate reality, where ogres are hunted, Rumpelstiltskin is king and Fiona has never met him. Can Shrek undo all of Rumpelstiltskin’s mischief, restore the world and regain his friends and family?

Reality Show
Rumpelstiltskin claimed that signing the magical contract would make all of Shrek’s problems disappear. Instead, it made things far worse and only made him wish for the life he left behind.

Perhaps, like Shrek, you’re feeling unfulfilled, longing to escape from life’s drudgery. Turning your life over to God will put you on a path to rival Shrek’s wildest adventures.

But unlike Rumpelstiltskin, God is not some sorcerer who promises to take all of your problems away. Christian life is not a denial of reality. If anything, putting your trust in God makes you see the world and yourself with fresh eyes. It gives you a window on the person you were created to be and enables you to be content, regardless of your circumstances.

The lessons of Shrek remain the same: the sooner he accepts himself for who he is,
the happier he will be. The same goes for us.

And that’s no fairy tale.

Mom had been tired of this earth for a while, and finally she’d had enough. I tried to feed her. She refused. I tried the things she tried on me to trick me into eating mashed veggies when I was a toddler. She clenched her lips. Maybe she was dreaming of a grander feast in another land.

Monday morning in her sleep, my 85-year-old mother slipped into Heaven to see what Jesus was building for her. I bet she was astounded. And I bet the second person to greet her there was Dad. He probably said, “Pucker up, Bernice. Welcome Home!”

What Mattered Most
So how do you say goodbye to the first woman who ever kissed you? The one who rocked you and read to you and showed you where to find Jesus? How do you say goodbye to your biggest fan, to one of the greatest champions for Christianity you ever met? First, you cry a lot. And then you smile, because you remember how imperfect she was.

Mom hated cooking. Her second-favourite kitchen activity was preparing dinner. Her favourite was banging her head against the fridge. She once tied me to the clothesline with a dog leash. I quite enjoyed sitting on the back step pondering a canine’s life. But she felt so guilty, she released me with a warning: “Stop running away.” And I did.

Mom would have been reported for such behaviour nowadays. Mothers weren’t perfect back then—but they weren’t absent, either.

Neighbourhood kids of my childhood have been phoning and e-mailing. In our backyard, they knew they could play football, baseball and ball hockey without being threatened with live ammunition. I don’t know if the decision was easy, but Mom chose children over grass. Our house was a haven. My friend, Bob, used to fall asleep on our sofa. He may still be there.

One note from a friend who has wandered far from God said, “Your mother was one of the only Christians I could stand to be around.” She hugged kids with more tattoos than brain cells. Perhaps it was her bad eyesight or perhaps she had very good eyesight—so good that she only saw the stuff that mattered.

Hanging On
You were safe at our house. I never once heard her speak an unkind word about my papa, a preacher or even a politician. She would defend complete idiots sometimes. Referees on Hockey Night in Canada, for instance. I guess she figured that God had shown so much grace to her, she’d better show some to others. When I looked for a bride, I wanted someone like my mom, one who wanted nothing more in this life than to follow Jesus with all her heart.

Mom hugged kids with more tattoos than brain cells. She had very good eyesight—so good that she only saw the stuff that mattered

Mom suffered through the Great Depression and she suffered through a not-so-great depression herself. In my earliest memories, she is sick. I think I got into comedy to cheer her up, hoping she’d get up off the bed and walk and sing and dance like she did sometimes.

On summer vacations, I watched her hand Bible literature to leather-clad bikers, telling them the best news she knew. I was sure they would murder her—and me—but they didn’t. Her charm was irresistible. Mom was fearless, yet she was the first person I ever saw have a panic attack. From her I learned that our greatest saints often struggle the most. They grow saintly hanging on to Jesus with everything they’ve got.

Saying Goodbye
With the onset of dementia, Mom’s tact filter went bye-bye. “Your nose is crooked,” she once told me, before slugging me in the arm. Into her 80s, she still packed a wallop. One day she whispered, “This growing old ain’t for kids.”

Our town lost a power generator and a great generator of power all at once. Mom prayed almost non-stop as her years increased. Three bestselling authors said they wouldn’t have written a book without her encouragement. The same is true for me. Mom was a writer who was content to stay at home while her books travelled the world. She could have secretaried, administrated or managed a staff, but she showed me that money is a lousy substitute for the adoration of five kids and 13 grandchildren. And it was those children who stood around her bedside singing hymns past tears, thanking God for her life.

How do you say goodbye to such a girl? Maybe you don’t. You say thank you. Thanks for the love and the inspiration and the memories. And thank You, Lord, that because she’s with You and You’re with me, we aren’t so very far apart.

Heaven is looking sweeter all the time.

Visit popular author and speaker Phil Callaway online at www.laughagain.org.

Illustration: Dennis Currie/dcurriedesign.com.

Not Interested
Born in Nairobi, Kenya, Damini’s parents immigrated to Canada in 1974 so that she could continue her education. Damini, 18 at the time, registered for pharmaceutical studies at the University of Saskatchewan.

Damini’s family was staunchly Hindu. Her oldest sister had almost attained Hindu priesthood, but she had no idea her husband believed in God until his death, when it was learned that he had requested a Christian funeral. The pastors who conducted the service engaged Damini’s sister in conversation and gave her a Bible. As a result, she began attending church and soon committed her life to God.

Her sister’s conversion was dramatic, but Damini wanted nothing to do with Christianity. She believed that, as a Hindu, she lacked nothing. She had lived a good life. “Hindus believe you get to Heaven by good works,” she says. Good works formed the foundation of her faith and had given her a loving home with good moral standards.

When Damini graduated, she took a job in New Brunswick. Her colleague there, another pharmacist, was a Christian. “I was running from God,” she laughs, “and I ran right into Him!” The colleague “adopted” her into his family. “They loved me unconditionally, and I definitely saw a difference in them.”

That year she also met Raj, a young pastor with whom she had many discussions about Christianity. “I told him I wasn’t interested. I was very content with Hinduism.”

A Christian Alone
On one occasion, Raj invited Damini with him to minister at a maximum security prison. She didn’t expect what she encountered. “One hundred and sixty hard-core prisoners—rapists and murderers—were praising God and testifying that God had forgiven them and that they had eternal life.”

It was her defining moment. Damini had never heard of a God who forgives. Hindu “salvation” based on works didn’t accommodate forgiveness. The revelation captivated her. “It was the key to my salvation,” she recalls.

In secret, she bought a Bible and read it voraciously for three months. “One night I was pouring over the Scriptures when I heard Jesus speak to me audibly, ‘Come! Come to Me!’ ”

Since that night, even though her family never accepted her faith and excluded her from family functions, Damini has never doubted her salvation. Her faith was rewarded when her father, before dying, had a vision of Christ. “My journey with God has been very close because I was alone with Him for so very long,” says Damini.

Spreading the Message
Damini and Raj married in 1981. The newlyweds moved to Hamilton, Ont., where Raj became a minister at Meadow Creek Church and Damini purchased a small pharmacy. Not long after, the economy faltered and many stores in the neighbourhood started to close. The pharmacy teetered on the economic edge. “Everyone told me to declare bankruptcy. They said I wouldn’t make it,” she says. But one morning as she listened to a pastor’s sermon, he seemed to challenge her directly. “Do you make decisions based on God’s Word or on the word of people?” he asked.

“I repented,” Damini continues. “I vowed God could wake me up at three in the morning until I heard from Him about what I should do with my business.” She wasn’t disappointed. She awoke at 3 a.m. every night for six months. “Then He pointed me to Bible passages showing me that I shouldn’t give up.”

Damini persisted in faith, but things got worse before they got better. “It took five years—from 1995 to 2000—before my circumstances turned,” she says. After that, things started looking up and she now owns two pharmacies. But even if her business had gone under, Damini’s faith would have been intact. “My time of searching made me a stronger Christian,” she says.

Damini now shares what she has learned. “I have had a women’s ministry for years, but now I am trying to reach those who do not attend church. I hold Bible studies among business people and pharmacy staff. We studied Rick Warren’s The Purpose-Driven Life, and now we’re doing a series based on the works of Beth Moore, an American evangelist and writer. People are thirsty for God’s Word.”

She encourages believers to spread the gospel message and see others through God’s eyes. “God gives us wisdom through His Spirit and we should never miss an opportunity to share and live a life of faith,” Damini states. “God delights in these things.”

Daina Doucet is a writer and editor based in Hamilton, Ont., and edits The Evangelical Fellowship of Canada’s website, www.Christianity.ca

Losing a child was the worst thing imaginable for Judith. But losing that child to suicide made it even worse—the recurring nightmares about how he took his life, not knowing what despair went through his mind beforehand, feeling that she should have done more but not knowing what. Suicide spares no one and brings no closure.

A Family’s Grief
Her son Michael’s suicide 18 years ago didn’t come as a complete surprise—he’d attempted it three times and the family had dealt with trauma since he was eight, when he was sexually abused by a camp counsellor.

In retrospect, seemingly unrelated incidents were warning signs—brain trauma after being knocked out in a hockey game and ending up in hospital for four days, experimenting with drugs, getting into a fight at university and other “strange episodes.”

Doctors all over the United States and Canada gave Judith different diagnoses: bipolar, schizophrenia and, finally, “diagnostic enigma”—meaning they didn’t have a clue.

Despite the lead-up, when Michael took his life in 1992, the family was devastated. Unable to pray, Judith lit a candle and meditated, one word at a time: “mercy, Jesus, beloved.” She sat in Michael’s room, holding his teddy bear, rocking back and forth, weeping.

“There just weren’t words,” she remembers.

Her husband, Jim, would lie on the couch every night, “so lifeless in his grief, I thought he was dead. His hair turned white before my eyes.”

Their other four children grieved deeply, each in their own way. Even the dog was affected, not moving for days from the spot near the urn that held Michael’s ashes.

For a deeply faithful family, how could such a thing happen?

Offering Help
“Nobody, Christian or otherwise, is exempt from life’s struggles,” says Stephanie Oliver, director of The Salvation Army’s Suicide Prevention Services in Hamilton, Ont.

Christian countries have lower rates of suicide. But for many Christians, the pressure that they shouldn’t be depressed or suicidal because they believe in an all-powerful God only increases a sense of failure, and isolates them even more.

Approximately 4,000 suicides take place in Canada each year. The exhausting struggle to cope with difficult circumstances such as divorce, death, unemployment or abuse can often lead to feelings of hopelessness. “There’s a desire to escape whatever is causing pain, frustration, pressure or failure, and suicide is seen as a way of ending that,” Stephanie explains. “Teens are especially vulnerable because they are less able to be objective, and can feel more desperate.” In fact, suicide is the second-leading cause of death for Canadian youths between the ages of 10 and 24.

Any time is a good time to intervene if you suspect someone is suicidal, she adds. Keep an eye on anyone struggling with difficult circumstances in their lives, whether at home, work or church. “Pray, be caring and listen—really listen—and then do something. Practical support is the place to start.”

Lives Lost and Left Behind
Debbie Miller, a member of The Salvation Army crisis-line team for almost 20 years, has fielded hundreds of calls from people about to attempt suicide. “Most are completely without supports,” she states, “Their relationships are severed. They feel no one cares, and they’re isolated.”

She’s talked many callers back from the brink, among them a young man who took drugs and contracted HIV, and another man facing divorce court for the second time. Debbie uses empathy, active listening skills and gentle persuasion—for example, asking the divorced man to take his kids’ pictures out of his wallet and look at them.

“You develop a gut feeling about people after a while,” Debbie believes, “and you have to be compassionate and sincere. Callers know when you’re not real.”

Though she is prepared to provide as much support as necessary, there’s nothing Debbie can do about what happens after. The tragedy lies not only with those lost but with the shattered lives of those left behind.

Answering the Call
That’s where the Church can step in with pastoral understanding, care and sensitivity. “God is a refuge and strength, and offers unconditional love,” says Major Doug Hefford, a Salvation Army pastor who’s presided over the funerals of two suicide victims. “We live in a culture that devalues human life, and the Church has a role in changing that perception. We reinforce the importance of life, and God calls us to deliver a message of grace that says no matter what happens to the body, we can’t destroy who we are in Him.”

For the Kennedys, worshipping in a caring Anglican parish made all the difference. There was material help—prepared meals, a single rose—and friends and acquaintances sent messages of hope and encouragement. Eminent theologian Henri Nouwen delivered the eulogy and visited their home. Missionaries living in Africa sent their condolences. Even a nurse from the hospital where Michael died came to church and, out of her pain, brought some solace to them.

“There were moments of profound and real community,” Judith Kennedy recalls. “I had been in Bible study with the same people for about 20 years. They didn’t give advice or hand me lists of books to read. We just sat there and held hands around the table, and Christ was in our midst.”

Eventually, between bouts of weeping, Judith found a renewed joy in the preciousness of life. “All our children are beautiful Christians,” she says. “Their brother’s death made them probe and question their beliefs, but their faith became deeper as a result.”

Judith’s faith has turned her grief to grace, giving her the heart to support others who have lost someone to suicide. “I hold on to a verse from one of the Psalms,” she says, “ ‘Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy’ (Psalm 126:5). God sends angels to us in times of loss, pain and grief. Any one of us can answer the call to be one.”

Where to Go for Help

• The Salvation Army Suicide Crisis Line (905) 522-1477. Collect calls accepted
• Centre for Suicide Prevention (www.suicideinfo.ca). The purpose of the Calgary-based centre is to inform and equip people with additional knowledge and skills for the prevention of suicide. (403) 245-3900 or csp@suicideinfo.ca

How You Can Help

• Know some of the key warning signs (helplessness, hopelessness, lack of purpose, anxiety, anger, feeling trapped, withdrawing from life, acting reckless, talking about death, dramatic mood changes)
• Know how to get help, and take all threats seriously
• Ask the person: “Are you thinking of suicide?” Asking someone if they are suicidal will not make them suicidal. Most likely they will be relieved that you asked
• Listen actively. Remain calm and do not judge. Explore and encourage other options.
  Options give hope
• Do not agree to keep the person’s suicidal thoughts or plans a secret. Get help

Prayers and Diatribes
As my wife Carole’s health declined, I was asked, “How are you, Dave?”

The emotional chaos I was in permitted no easy answer to that question. But a host of adjectives and phrases applied.

I was angry; I was mad at God; I felt crushed, cheated and robbed. I was also filled with gratitude for my 45 years with Carole, for our wonderful family and the multitude of our caring friends. With all of these contradictory feelings tumbling around inside me, I was an emotional wreck.

As a Christian and a lifelong member of The Salvation Army in London, Ont., I believe in God and I believe God loves us. But my daily prayers had turned into diatribes. I had serious arguments with God about the timing and unfairness of Carole’s death. How could You do that to her? How could You do that to me? Why now? This isn’t fair!

Messages of Hope
In the heat of one such angry tirade a few days before the funeral, I was stopped in mid-flight with a sense of God’s presence.

Two very clear and calm messages entered my mind. The first was: “David, when would have been the correct time for Carole to die? Six years ago, when she was first diagnosed with breast cancer? A few years from now, wracked with ongoing pain and bedridden? Pain was not My wish for Carole. But this world, unlike Heaven, contains perpetual conflict between good and evil, right and wrong, happiness and sorrow.”

Then, to make the point even clearer, the second message came to me: “David, throughout your married life, you have always tried to be a true gentleman with Carole; you have always opened the door to let her enter first. As her Heavenly Father, should I not be able to hold open the door to her New Home and let her enter first?”

These thoughts definitely did not originate from me. I wasn’t on the same page, or even the same book, for that matter.

Rainbow Promise
I’ve heard and read about such Spirit-filled encounters, but never really understood how it felt to have that experience. I now know and believe differently. In an instant, my finely honed anger disappeared.

I wish I could say that I had turned a corner after this encounter, that I had been rejuvenated, had become optimistic … but that would be a lie. I have, however, gained some perspective.

I’ve become calmer, less angry and bitter, and more reflective and appreciative. I still have a huge emotional knot in my stomach. That may never entirely disappear. However, instead of grieving over what might have been had Carole lived, I now treasure the time we had. I also know with absolute assurance that Carole and I had “a fine romance.” I have no regrets.

When I sensed God’s presence, I knew without a doubt that, with His help and the support of family and friends, I would make it through the emotional fog that had surrounded me since my wife’s death. The rainbow over the funeral only served to remind me, as it had with Noah (see Genesis 9:11-17), of God’s covenant of love and grace. My personal rainbow has reappeared, and my faith has matured and deepened.

The pilot episode kicked off last fall with giant spaceships darkening the skies over 29 major cities of the world. Anna (Morena Baccarin), the beautiful and charismatic leader of the Visitors, reassures the panicked masses of Earth that they mean no harm. “We are of peace—always,” she intones.

Crisis of Faith
But a small number of humans begin to doubt the sincerity of the seemingly benevolent Visitors. FBI counter-terrorism agent Erica Evans (Elizabeth Mitchell) discovers that the aliens have spent decades infiltrating human governments, businesses and religious institutions. But to what purpose?

Erica joins the resistance movement, which includes Ryan (Morris Chestnut), a Visitor sleeper agent who wants to save humanity, and Father Jack Landry (Joel Gretsch), a priest who has a crisis of faith when his superiors quickly accept the Visitors as part of “God’s plan.”

Unfortunately, the Visitors have an expert public-relations strategy. They recruit young people as “ambassadors” —including Erica’s son, Tyler (Logan Huffman)—to serve them unknowingly as spies. And they enlist Chad Decker (Scott Wolf), a conflicted television reporter, as their chief spokesman.

Through TV interviews, the Visitors explain that they need a new supply of water and a certain mineral, which is abundant on Earth, to survive. In exchange, they agree to share their technological advances, including cures for the sick. People flock to their medical centres, but Ryan and Erica are convinced there is something more nefarious at work.

As Erica says, “They’re arming themselves with the most powerful weapon out there … devotion.”

Trust and Terror
The series is a “re-imagining” of two V mini-series that aired on NBC in 1983 and 1984. ABC’s remake is faithful in premise and less campy in presentation. V has been on hiatus following the first four episodes but continued its run in late March, after the Winter Olympics. ABC clearly hopes to appeal to the same fan base of its other hit science-fiction shows Lost and FlashForward, which have intricate plotlines designed to keep audiences guessing.

“V was a timeless story of resistance against tyrannical oppression,” says writer Kenneth Johnson of the original series. “It was never about spaceships and aliens. V was about power: ruthless people who possessed power, and everyday people who risked their lives to fight against the abuse of power.”

Johnson says that his inspiration for the original series was based on anti-Nazi resistance movements during the Second World War, apartheid in South Africa and the American Revolution. Those historical underpinnings gave V a depth and substance that helped to make it an instant classic.

There is a similar undercurrent in the new V, what executive producer Scott Peters calls a “post-9/11 emphasis on questions of trust and terror.”

The best science fiction is not only a portent of what’s to come but a commentary on present-day society. For example, the Visitors’ offer of free medical treatment resonates with the current controversy over access to health care in the United States. The decision to grant visas to Visitors so that they can mix with the human population evokes the immigration debate. Of course, the show is not meant as a political statement, but V’s creators know that good science fiction exploits our deepest anxieties.

Searching for a Saviour
The core message of V is that appearances can be deceiving. And blind trust can lead to ruin. It’s a theme as old as the Bible. The Apostle Paul notes the devil is so clever and deceptive that he often “masquerades as an angel of light” (2 Corinthians 11:14) in order to win people’s hearts and minds.

Jesus, too, had warnings about false saviours: “If anyone tries to flag you down, calling out, ‘Here’s the Messiah!’ or points, ‘There he is!’ don’t fall for it. Fake messiahs and lying preachers are going to pop up everywhere. Their impressive credentials and dazzling performances will pull the wool over the eyes of even those who ought to know better” (Matthew 24:23-24 The Message).

Many people today are searching for a Saviour. Someone to rescue them from failing health, abusive situations or feelings of worthlessness. Too often they look for answers in all the wrong places: at the bottom of a bottle, in self-centred New Age spirituality, in material wealth and prosperity.

Their devotion is misplaced. What they don’t realize is that a Saviour has already come. Christians believe Jesus was God in the flesh, who came to teach us the way to live. At Easter, we commemorate His death and Resurrection. His sacrifice means we can be forgiven for our sins and enter into a renewed relationship with God.

We are not alone in the universe. There is a God who loves us. He’s our Creator in Heaven who can be known through prayer, a relationship with Jesus and studying the Bible.

God doesn’t promise that once you believe, things will miraculously improve for you. But He’ll help you learn to love yourself and your neighbour a bit better. He’ll help you understand your place in the universe. He’ll help you find a community of believers that can support you along life’s journey.

Christianity is not just “pie in the sky.” It’s a way of life that leads to an overwhelming joy and deep fulfilment.

As Father Landry says, “The world’s in bad shape. Who wouldn’t welcome a Saviour?” Just be sure to place your faith in the One who has your best interests at heart.