The Story behind "Joy Bombs."

So many things to be said, so little space, so little time. My heart is full of joy, my mind growing more at peace, something I would have never said five years ago on this very day. At least, not yet.

Many already know my story, mainly because I can't shut up about it, but today marks one of the biggest pieces of the puzzle. Today is the day that marked me. Today is the day that set me on the journey that birthed this blog, that sent me to YWAM, that chased me on my adventures as I lived in India for a few months, today is how I am studying Youth Major at Christ for the Nations right now under the most amazing teachers like Pr. Chris Estrada, Pr. Jaycee Jennings, Christian Conatser, and so many more. But for those who don't know, or perhaps you forgot, today is a very special day. Today, five years ago, in the small gym of a public middle school, in the church I attended for nine years, I was delivered, as my friends and family surrounded me in prayer, from a long time struggle against suicide, depression and bipolar disorder. 

The girl I was for so many long nights, and nightmarish months seems a distant memory to me now,  but I remember her struggle, and her validity for attempts at suicide. I remember screaming at my poor Mom, as she sat on my futon, tears streaming her face, cussing her out only to fall on the floor and then scream in anguish, "What's wrong with me!? This isn't me!" I remember my Dad sitting across from me, almost begging me to move home when I still lived in Reno for fear I wouldn't come out alive that semester, my first semester of college. I remember running home on campus after my first attempt failed, my sister calling me, asking where I was as she tried to find me, later to have me move in with her the last two weeks of school. I remember my Dad spent almost $60 for he, my Mom, and I to go see Avatar in IMAX, after being amazed, but before we reached the car, I was in the sourest mood of "I hate everyone and everything." 

I praise God that who I am is not who I was. 

I thank Him constantly that He saved me because He loves me, not just because I wanted it.

I thank God that even though I would cry and stare at the stucco of my ceiling, wondering if a God-like figure even existed, but not having the ability to forget His existence because of Him saving my life from an attempted murder at 14 years old, He was faithful to hear my pleas.

I am eternally grateful that He did not simply save me from my sins, but also from myself.

I wish I could end the story with a happily ever after, but those don't exist by default, they come by choice. Life isn't cut and dry and Once Upon A Time is not just for the heroes. Yes, the Lord saved me from my suicide struggle, but my Auntie was not so lucky. 

Three days, that Wednesday, March 03, 2010, I was waiting, more pacing, my family room wondering where my Mom was. We were going to check out wedding invitations for my sisters wedding, but it had been hours since my Mom said she would be home. I started to worry so I texted her, then my Dad who replied, "Sorry Lo, there's been a family emergency. Mom will be home later." My family doesn't have "emergencies." And the facts that no one would tell me about it freaked me out even more. 

Finally, I heard the garage, but my Pastor's wife, who was there praying for me on Sunday, three days earlier, walked in, saw me and looked like she would start to cry. "What the hell is going on?" I said, knowing something happened.... Someone died. That's when I saw my Mom. Her eyes were beyond bloodshot red, her makeup smeared, her hair disheveled, she couldn't breathe, she just heaved. After several long breaths she said, "Auntie Susan is gone." Then they explained how my Auntie committed suicide, and that she was gone. Immediately I tore for my room and locked myself away. I didn't want to see or talk to anyone. I was in shock. I was angry. I was torn. I drove by her house hours earlier that day on my way home from school, and I thought to myself, I need to tell Auntie Susan what happened on Sunday, or at least go see her... But I was too late. She's gone. Forever.

I then became angry with God and confused as to why He saved me, but not her. Didn't He love her too? Why didn't He save her? 
Well, I came to find out later, she didn't die after she pulled the trigger. She died after my Mom got there and asked Jesus to take her home. There are a million different arguments and fights and discussions people have about suicide, especially when it involves us Christians, and I will say this, and this only: 

Christians are humans too. We struggle not only against flesh and blood, but against powers of darkness and principalities that are sometimes louder than our faith, and seem stronger than our will. I will never say I understand suicide, but I can sympathize with those who struggle. However, I also know that even though all hope seems gone, it never is because Jesus is our hope. The only thing that leaves us is our belief that He will help us, and that's when people pull the trigger. I know the pain of a suicidal, but I also know the pain that is greater and deeper when you lose someone you love to it. A suicidal sometimes doesn't believe they are loved, and the ones who mourn their death regret the decision to forget to show it. 

So don't you dare wait. 

Don't you dare put it off til tomorrow.

Because tomorrow may never come, for either of you.

And the one of you will live, you will go on, you will heal and move on, but there will always be that small piece of your heart that goes to the grave when the casket is laid to rest. A piece that wishes for a round two, for one more minute, for another chance, but it will never come for them, it will only come for the next suicidal who crosses your path. And you have the choice, and the God-given duty, to show them the love they seek that they don't think they deserve.

This is why I am a self-proclaimed "Joy Bomber." I understand the frailty of life, and the difficulties and struggle man faces everyday. No, I don't understand everyone's pain, but I understand pain. I understand heartache. I understand not understanding. I understand I will have some answers and to some questions I will never know until I am in heaven, but by then it won't matter. I understand a deep level of wounding pain, but I also believe in the theory of equal and opposite reactions. I believe that for the level of pain I know, there is an equal level of love. For the deepest ends of depression I once knew, there is an equal level of joy to be discovered. And I want to discover it to the fullest. I'm tired of living with s rain cloud over my head when my Christ is known to be the light of the world and is called the "Son" of man. His Word in James says that it is through trials we will find the fullness of our joy, and Nehemiah said His joy will be out strength. So I am determined to let those trials reveal greater levels of strength through joy verses depression through hopelessness. 

Granted everyone is different and of their own beliefs and opinions, but for me personally, I'm tired of being negative and a "Debby Downer." I want to be a Joy Bomber that provides hope to others that the sun will, and does, come out tomorrow and we do not have to live with a defeatist mentality. Jesus died on the Cross so I could have life abundantly, so heck yes I want it! I've been through too many trials where my life was almost taken to want to crawl in a hole and wait to die. That's stupid. That's not who I am. I am a Joy Bomber. I'm one who sees joy in the smallest details of life and understands that though there are parts of life that seem destructive or maybe are being "bombed", but it's okay because trials create the fullness of my joy. It's just about my perspective and how I choose to see things. 

And yes, I still have crappy days. I still cry, I say things I don't mean, I'm not depressed but I have depressing moments. I'm human. But i'm trying to be better. I'm trying to be who Jesus made me to be, and He made me to be victorious. It's in my name (literally). 

To be honest, it's been a little rough this week as I remember my Aunt and what happened, but to counteract it I am trying to remember the good things. Like when she gave us the M&M's candy dispenser and I got to binge on free candy. Or when I was a little kid and she would swing me around and around by the arms. I remember when she taught me how to swim, and when she came to my eighth grade graduation and she matched my Grama and Mom without trying. I remember she always told me I was really beautiful and "so skinny!" I remember playing pool at her house with my Grandpa one Christmas. I remember the Whoppers candy she put on her kitchen counter that was dressed like a reindeer and to get the candy it looked like it was pooping. I remember she had her own stain glass window studio and she got pretty good at it. I remember she could identify a real diamond from a fake just by looking at it. I remember having my own little blue and white China cup of coffee with her and my Mom while Ally was in school, but I was too young. I remember she always had Mountain Dew. I remember her telling me to never smoke as she pulled out a cigarette. I remember her laugh, and how if you really got her going she might slap her knee. I remember her small rose tattoo above her right shoulder blade. I remember loving the fact that we both owned Mustangs, hers was red (which my sister now owns) and mine was grey. I remember her smile... 

I miss my Auntie so much, and by God I wish she was here so I could have her come to my graduation from seminary in May. I wish I could introduce her to my boyfriend, who I know one day I'm going to marry. I wish I could have her at my wedding. I wish she would sit across from me at the table on Thanksgiving. But I am thankful because of where our journey has taken us, and I know she's proud of me. I know she's proud of Ally, and she smiles as she sees where her two "little girls" have gone in this life. I know she's up there with Papa, and maybe they're not allowed to smoke, but they will probably try to find a way, and if they're not smoking then maybe they're riding horses like they taught me and Ally to do as kids. I wish I was with them, but I'm so grateful for the journey I'm on because God turned around something horrible and made it beautiful. 

Just like a good, good Father does.

So please, if you take anything from this post, take these two things: 

1. Don't wait before it's too late, love on the unlovables now.

2. Hold onto your joy, and remember your trials are not killing it, they are fulfilling it.

Joy Bombs,

-Saint

In loving memory of SUSAN MOORE COATES, beloved Daughter, Sister, Auntie and Wife.