You Raised Me Up
At 3:27 p.m., I got a text from a dear friend, "Hey Audri. We missed you last night, but I sure hope you are feeling much better!" He was checking in on me, knowing I had been sick with Covid for a few days. At 4:17 p.m., I texted him, "I am physically, but please pray for me. I feel emotionally depleted and can't stop crying."
At 5:45 p.m., when he hadn't responded, I was gripped with guilt. I suddenly wished I could stuff those words back into my heart. My transparent vulnerability had laid my burden squarely on the shoulders of someone I cared about. I immediately texted him, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have put that on you. I'm okay." I lied. All I could think was that he, too, couldn't let me be weak and was also willing to just let me go unseen. Maybe like everyone else, he was assuming my strength. I'm supposed to be the one others lean on, not the other way around. He's also a leader in our church. I'd said too much. Now I would never be trusted to lead or minister to others. I sank.
At 6:39 p.m., he finally replied. "No, Audri don't feel sorry at all! I appreciate you sharing that with me so I can pray for you. Is there anything else I can do for you to help with these feelings?"
Immediately, I replied, "I don't know, aside from prayer. I appreciate your heart though." I was already convinced that he was really too busy and was responding out of obligation, not because he actually cared. My mind had already convinced me that no one really did. Now I was just trying to push him away. (I couldn't live in grace in those moments - couldn't recognize that his delayed response was nothing more than him living life, and serving others. He was busy loving other people. My broken heart couldn't see clearly.)
At 7:26 p.m., I left my house with no destination in mind. I just needed to get away. The walls felt like they were closing in on me. Despite four other people being in the house, I felt completely unseen, and I had been withdrawing over the previous three weeks. My noise-canceling earbuds lived in my ears. They filled my mind with music that reinforced a growing sense of hopelessness. At the time, I couldn't fully articulate why I was collapsing. I kept losing myself and creating growing distance between me and my husband, me and my kids, me and everyone who loves me. Every hurt, every sense of abandonment, every foothold of darkness and self-doubt seemed to land on me simultaneously. My mind began to convince me that nothing would change. I would continue to be invisible to those who were supposed to see me and care enough to do something about it. My spiral wasn't their fault. I wanted to disappear. My mind began conjuring all the ways I could make that happen. How could I die with the least impact on others? Storm clouds formed in my mind, and within two blocks of my house, I could hardly drive through growing sobs of despair. In hindsight, I came to realize that I was under spiritual attack.
At 7:27 p.m., as I pulled up to a stop sign, my friend finally replied. "Of course, Audri. I would love to get a coffee with you sometime and just catch up on how you've been post-Germany." Over the summer, we had served together on a missions trip to Germany that had radically changed me.
At 7:46 p.m., I replied, "Germany was amazing. God has worked on my heart so much since then. I've never prayed so fervently in my life as then and now. So much has changed inside me. In a way, I feel like I woke up. I feel like God is doing something in me. And I'm fighting a spiritual battle. I'm praying, singing, writing, and leaning into God more than I ever have, but...I can't eat. I'm not sleeping. I've lost weight. I got Covid. My marriage is under attack. And I can't tell you how desperate I feel right now."
No reply.
At 7:48 p.m., my husband called. "Where do you go. You sound melancholy." I lied. "I just needed to get out and take a walk, and I'm going to the store. Text me what you need." It was everything I could do to hold in tears to get him off the phone.
At 7:55 p.m., I was convinced that I didn't really matter. I texted my friend a final, "I'm so sorry." By then, I was sitting in a random parking lot with a death grip on my steering wheel. I really wanted to go where no one would ever find me, and all I could do was sob. I was done and was trying to formulate a plan to take my life. Even then, it was tearing my heart apart. I work with those whose loved ones have died by suicide. The thought of the trail of destruction I would leave behind only made me cry harder, only made me more despairing. Within less than a minute, my phone rang.
"Audri, what's going on?"
"Zach, I can't breathe!"
This is where it started. We spoke for 15 minutes, during all of which I sobbed. I poured my heart out, but I honestly can only remember feeling like my heart and mind were imploding. He listened and encouraged. Then I said it. I wanted to die. I don't think he hesitated. He knew I wasn't safe.
"Audri, where are you? Drop me a pin. I'm on my way."
I dropped him the pin and waited, sobbing uncontrollably and holding on.
At 8:36 p.m., Zach pulled into the parking spot next to me. He brought reinforcements - God and two other friends from church, Wes and Caitlin.
I melted out of my van and into the arms of my friends. All I could think to say was, "You came for me." Even now, I'm overwhelmed nearly to the point of tears, recalling the sense of relief and love I felt.
"Of course, we came."
They poured into me. They all hugged me and held on until I could let go. At one point, I doubled over with tears, shame, guilt, and the weight of everything falling on me. As pain poured out of my heart, my words struck a chord of fear. Serving with these people in our church was where God had placed me, and all I could think was, "Now they will know I'm not fit to serve." The darkness in me had me convinced that I'd said too much. With penetrating eyes that spoke to me of their own conviction, they told me that all these things were a lie. They saw me. They heard me. They held me. As I fought my own mind, they fought with me. They. Fought. For. Me.
For an hour, God surrounded us in that parking lot. We talked. We listened. We prayed. Believe it or not, we ultimately laughed. In the end, I told them, "I need to pray." They had already prayed over me. Now, it was my turn. I don't recall my prayer, but I recall the peace that poured out of me by then. The tears had flowed away. I could stand. I could breathe. I could hope. I could pray. And God met me there in that parking lot, with three people who love me deeply.
Now I sit here listening to "You Raise Me Up" by Josh Groban.
Zach, Wes, and Caitlin raised me up. When I couldn't breathe. When I couldn't pray. When I couldn't see God. They saw Him for me. They held me up until I could feel His presence again. I will never be the same again because of what God brought me through. They continue to pray for me. And we continue to serve God together.
Wes reminded me five days later that God can use me more because I emptied myself out that night - and that God then filled me up.
I can't adequately express the importance of being in community, surrounding yourself with people who love God, and allowing yourself to be vulnerable and seen. I sang "You Raise Me Up" in a karaoke bar 14 years ago because it was a beautiful song. Now I will sing it because of these three friends whose love lifted me to God when I needed it most. I love them more than I could ever show.
