This morning when we woke our pastor friend told us some very sad news. While we were sleeping, an eighteen-year-old boy who lived next door to the church had hung himself. We went to the house with the pastor to see the family.
We walked down a dirt path with walls on each side to a small concrete house with a tin roof. It was maybe ten by twenty. There were many people standing around and you could here the cries of mourners coming from inside. The pastor pushed his way into the house. As I followed him in I had to wait for a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room. Once they did I was confronted with a scene of such sadness and despair.
There were over sixty people crammed into the small space. Many cries of sadness could be heard throughout. The pastor worked his way through the crowd to get to the mother. She was standing in front of the casket. I reluctantly followed.
I am a six-foot tall white man. In this world that makes me the tallest person in the room by far. I felt so out of place. I did not know this boy. Nor did I know his family. I felt like I was intruding.
It was not hard to figure out who the mother was. Her face was wracked with such anguish and pain. At one point she showed us the rope her son used to take his life. We prayed for her and the family. I don’t know what was said but I know God’s heart is breaking for this family. Mine was.
Pray for the family.
