Michael committed suicide two a half years ago. He had lived with my husband and I for the 16 months prior to that Saturday, June 28th. I suppose that day should not have come as such a shock. Warning us, he told us several times, “this will end in my suicide. . . I don’t want to tell you that, but it will. I’m so mad at myself for moving here and letting you love me. . . cuz I never wanted to hurt you.” I knew and truly believed that Michael was wrong. My ending to his time with us was much, much different. And after all, if we were going to take the risk of loving him – surely, God would do what He does – heal people, change hearts, change lives. Right? And so in March of 2013, we started the journey of loving someone very, very lovable. Michael didn’t make it hard. However. The ever-looming giant “However”. After about 13 months, Ryan and I had grown ready. Ready for many things. Ready to be done – ready to not knock on Michael’s door and open it to find him still in bed at 11
We can and should strive for excellence - to be like Christ - but only enter the striving with a knowledge that the only truly excellent quality we can ever obtain is His grace.