Annette M Eckart - Spiritual Secrets about Suicide

SPIRITUAL SECRETS ABOUT SUICIDE

Bridge for Peace

SPIRITUAL SECRETS ABOUT SUICIDE

Annette M. Eckart

Bridge for Peace Publishers

Wading River, New York

Bridge for Peace Publishers

PO Box 789

Wading River, New York 11792

Spiritual Secrets About Suicide

First Printing, October 2017

Copyright 2017 by Annette M. Eckart

ISBN 978-0-9845306-5-6
ISBN 978-0-9845306-6-3 (e-book)

Available through Bridge for Peace

PO Box 789, Wading River, NY 11792

Phone (631) 730-3982 fax (631) 730-3995

www.bridgeforpeace.org

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

Scriptures in this book include direct quotations, as well as the authors adaptations, from various translations of the Holy Bible.

Cover Design by Kevin McKernan

Cover Photograph by Emily Scarbrough

Printed in the U. S. A.

Dedicated to Jesus Christ the only One Who saves

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

Tragedy

P astor Frank stepped around the casket of the eighteen-year-old boy. John had died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. High school students, neighbors, and family membersboth local and from overseaspacked the funeral service to grieve and to comfort his parents and sister. Like medics at a disaster site working together to stop the bleeding. We held Johns family tightly, but carefully, in the grip of our communal love.

Boys in the front pews wore football uniforms to honor John, their 6'2" captain whose broad shoulders, black hair, and robust appetite earned him the nickname Big Bear. At the beginning of the season the community newspaper quoted coach Shay as saying Johns attitude was exemplary. I heard students stories of how he intentionally befriended unpopular kids, made himself available to the lonely and the insecure. He was the designated driver, whether kids needed a ride for football practice or a party. His father Dennis said, I used to give him a hard time about all the gas he used and he would say, Dad, these guys need a ride, its so important.

My husband Ed and I knew Johns aunt and uncle and saw him occasionally at their family parties or at church where he helped out at Sunday school every few weeks. We noted his polite self-assurance, unusual for a boy his age. We heard he recently visited the State University of New York at Cortland with his Dad and arranged for fall semester entry.

Last Sunday, warm March sunshine hinted at a beautiful spring. John attended church solo and returned home to nosh on his favorite bagels, smoked salmon, and onions in the kitchen with his parents. Since his car was in the repair shop, he asked for his Dads Jeep keys and texted friends to meet him at the local beach. He took the quick drive to the shore. Big Bear ended his life. And then his friends arrived. Whispers spread the shocking news through our community. Neighbors shook their heads in disbelief. Not again .

Three months earlier a fourteen-year-old freshman boy, a well-liked varsity wrestler, left his home for a 10 a.m. run and didnt return. Search parties of neighbors and friends scoured the area until the next morning at 8 a.m. when police found his body in the woods. Suicide. Two weeks later another local student, a fifteen year old girl, died by suicide.

Johns wake took place at the community funeral parlor. Ed and I arrived early, but a line had already formed outside the building. It continued throughout the hours of visitation. The empty space John left was filled with unanswerable questions, numbing shock, and inconsolable grieving.

I heard his mother say, He slept a bit more than usual last week. But popular, athletic teenagers periodically need extra sleep. Family and friends asked themselves the tormenting question: Did I miss something? But John never showed the typical signs that raise concerns about suicide. I listened to men and women repeat the same phrases. Doesnt make sense. Incomprehensible. The pastor is really shook up. Said he never saw it coming. The son every father would want to have.

I kept silent as they expressed their confusion. I felt the sense of a tragic, irreplaceable loss, but didnt identify with their total bewilderment. Perhaps it was because I had a different experience of the power of suicidal suggestions.

People crowded into the church for Johns 10 a.m. funeral. Those with and without religious convictions came. Some held tightly to their faith, others never thought about God. Whether they were Christian believers, disinterested in church, or even opposed to religion, people attended. An uncommon silence in the church became progres sively oppressive. It was as though the emotionally exhausted congregation had unanimously consented to stifle all expressions of grief. High school girls sat stiff in their seats. A boy in a blue and white football jacket, elbows on his knees, face in his hands, wiped his silent tears.

Johns father, Dennis, waited in the back of the church. A former New York City fire fighter, he had lost many of his colleagues in the Twin Towers collapse. He helped restore safety after 9/11 and one year later he retired.

The soloist opened her hymnal and the congregation stood. Dennis, assisted by family members, wheeled his sons dark wood coffin down the aisle.

In the middle of his sermon the pastor surprised us. He pointed midway back on the left side of the church. He said, Have you noticed the empty seat there? Like those near me, I turned around to look at the pew on the other side of the aisle. A single empty space at the end of the row was unoccupied in the full church. That was Johns usual seat in his usual pew, the pastor continued.

People in attendance from many different towns neither knew about Johns usual place in church, nor did we intentionally leave his customary seat empty. Two girls looked at each other and raised their eyebrows as if to say, This is strange. Others hunched their shoulders as if touched by an eerie chill. Some sensed it was a matter of supernatural design, affirming John was still with us. Not in the form we recognized, but among us nonetheless.

The bishop saved his remarks for the close of the funeral service. He stepped forward and looked at us, visibly gathering strength for the task ahead.

Do not define Johns life by this one moment, the bishop urged. John is now in the heart of God. He now sees life through the heart of God. John now sees you from that perspective. I want you to think about this. As he looks at you today, what would he say to you?

Fresh tears filled my eyes. I knew what Gods heart was for me this morning. It was time to disclose what I had been taught. Time to reveal the spiritual secrets about suicide and stop the lies.

When the pastor pointed out the empty seat left of the center aisle as Johns usual seat, I heard a stir in the congregation. From the expressions on different faces, I could imagine reactions and questions. Okay, so there is an empty place. Coincidence. What about it? Why is the pastor pointing it out? What is he suggesting?

I was comfortable, even comforted, with the thought of John sitting among us. I know there is a spiritual realm where those who have died continue to live. And they are not the only ones alive in the vast spiritual realm. The deliberate opening of my own spirit to an unseen dimension resulted in divine encounters that eventually revealed secret spiritual realities about suicide.

Lies that dismiss the reality of powerful spiritual influences create a dangerous void. Many, tricked by deceptions, have tripped and fallen into dark emotional pits. Many uninstructed in spiritual truth lose hope of escape from despair. I recall a conversation I had with a professional in school administration.