About six months after my son Joshua died by suicide, my mind grew exhausted and muddled. Sleep had come in meager fits of three hours a night. My eyes burned and my teeth itched.

One afternoon, I entered the dining room and stared at the seagull-bordered wallpaper Joshua and I hung together. It was one of the many projects he helped me with up until his death at age twenty-five. My chest heaved with a stab of pain. In my peripheral vision, I saw Joshua retreating around a corner. My mind is playing tricks on me, I thought.

Out loud, I said, "Will I ever feel joy, again?"

Months later, I mounted on the wall a wrought-iron plaque with a Scripture from Joshua 24:15... 'but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord."

After watching a Jesus movie one evening, I fixed my eyes on the plague. "Lord, God, I miss Joshua twenty-four seven."

Immediately, a prompting came for me to read Josh 24:7! I grabbed my Bible and read until the end of that verse, "...and ye dwelt in the wilderness a long season" (KJV). In my stubborn attitude, a pang of disappointment slammed into my chest.

I fought my anger and tears, but lost once again. Out loud, I said, "I'm sick of crying. I'm sick of missing Joshua. My son took his own life, Lord!"

The moments stretched into minutes, and my sobs throbbed in my ears for the millionth time. Then, a hush hovered over me. I sensed a comforting Presence, wanting me to understand. He wanted me to learn something important.

Then, it came. I must wander on the path of grief for a longer time. God showed me by the scripture He prompted me to read, and I read it again, "...and ye dwelt in the wilderness a long season."

I blinked at the significance.

While I had grieved isolated and alone in the previous months, God now broke through His silence. In His love, He sent the Holy Spirit to comfort and reassure me that my grieving journey had indeed just begun. God can only speak truth and the truth is what I needed.

Although, I would have rather heard my grief would soon end, God showed me otherwise. I had to claim it. Another idea came to me. God knew all too well the sorrow of seeing a Son suffer, and He understood my broken heart.

Father, thank You for caring about me. Even in my rebellious heart, You heard me and showed me the truth through Your holy Word. In Jesus' holy name, I am grateful. Amen.

Jean Williams


Author of Adult Nonfiction
Blogs 1 & 2