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A suicidal young woman finds Jesus -- and life. The knock on my door was persistent. An awfully tired, thin-as-a-reed and gaunt-faced figure with disheveled hair stared at me when I opened the door. She seemed to be in her early 20s. Beside her stood a woman I barely recognized -- Mary, an old acquaintance I hadn't seen in 16 years. After they settled on the living room sofa, Mary said she was now living in a city 65 kilometers from my town. Somehow she had searched me out. I had no inkling of what was about to unfold. There had been no forewarning, and I was in no way prepared to handle what was coming. Mary revealed that the woman with her, her younger sister Tina (who sat passively and stared at her toes), had attempted suicide a few days before. She had consumed a poisonous insecticide but had survived. She spoke to no one and refused food and water. Mary left after an hour, and since she hadn't said, I assumed she would come back and take Tina home the next day or so. I had no idea she would never return to fetch Tina. I was not prepared for this shock. In my town there was no such thing as a crisis center or suicide intervention program or a shelter, or even a psychiatrist. What on earth, or rather, what in heaven was I going to do now? I was neck-deep in a special project that required me to commute to another city by train and bus four hours each day. My six-day workweek left me no extra time, and Sundays were filled with chores and errands. Besides, I had just brought in a 2-month-old homeless puppy I'd named Bosky, and it needed much care. There was no extra room in the house, so I settled Tina near the window in my room, setting up a folding bed and a chair and table. She lay in bed and did not speak for a week. Only after repeated coaxing would she take some fruit juice in small sips. Eating was far from her mind, and she balked at the slightest suggestion of a sandwich or some tandoori chicken. I was too tired to talk after making dinner every evening after work, but kept urging her to sample some soup. Finally, she reluctantly ate some, probably so I would quit bothering her! One weekend I gently asked her, "Do you want to talk about what has been bothering you?" She looked at me blankly, hesitantly, with great conflict raging in her mind. It seemed she just couldn't. But some weeks later she suddenly decided to confide in me. She admitted she smoked heavily and had been on alcohol and drugs for several years. She had also been keeping bad company and getting into fights constantly. Fed up with life, she had attempted suicide, and her family was ashamed of all this. No one had ever taken her for counseling or therapy. Her parents and siblings had rejected her because of her lifestyle and didn't want anything to do with her. They were tired of waiting for her to "turn over a new leaf." Tina was intolerable. How was I supposed to grasp all this and deal with someone I didn't even know? How was I to spark her will to live when she wished to die? How could I help someone who only felt hate and anger -- towards herself, her family, the world, and especially me for trying to "make her live"? How could I love such an unlovable, self-destructive person? How and how long was I to shelter and care for someone who didn't wish to go home? And whose family clearly didn't want her back? At first she was quiet and seemed to live peacefully. But as she felt stronger her rage seemed to return. Like my cat that used to disappear for three or four days in a row and then would suddenly return meowing near my window, Tina would run off and keep returning from time to time. And I could only pray the Lord would somehow guide her steps back to my home. I tried again and again to convince her to allow me to take her to a psychologist in a nearby city. It took two weeks to talk her into it. I drove her 70 kilometers on my scooter to meet with the psychologist, and back again. Tina had reluctantly agreed to go, but once there, she refused to answer a single question. After many appointments, she slowly began talking during sessions. Then she discontinued suddenly and wouldn't go back for therapy. One afternoon she tried to set herself on fire after finding some kerosene in the storeroom. She stood with a kerosene-drenched T-shirt and a matchbox in her hand, right in the middle of the kitchen. I begged God desperately to help me stop her. I wrestled as I had never before in my life, and somehow wrenched the matchbox away and pushed her out into the backyard before she could get ahold of anything else. She was violent toward me and cursed loudly. "Why don't you let me die?" she thundered. Finally she calmed down, but then she burst into great sobs and collapsed on the ground. I had to have her hospitalized for a few days, and no one came to pick her up, so I prepared to take her home, with great dread. A few days later, I talked to her about giving up all her addictions. I read Philippians 4:13: "I can do everything through him who gives me strength." She didn't say a word, but I knew she was thinking. Then I prayed for her and began reading aloud my favorite Psalm, Psalm 91 -- "He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, 'He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust'" (vv. 1-2). I asked her to promise God she would not take her life, because He loved her. She told me she had practically been an atheist who'd never known or needed or heeded God. One day she had argued angrily, "God doesn't care. No one cares." And I had said, "He cared enough to bring you to my door. Did I not care? Did I turn you away?" Now her tears flowed freely until dawn, and we asked Him to take control of her spirit, mind and body. Her life. For once, she bowed her head with me in prayer. A healing process began. She ate and slept well, slowly resumed school. She gave up the addictions after a year of intense struggle. I took her home to her family to visit one day, and her mother was stunned to see this new person. For the next two years she came over on weekends and would talk about the difference Jesus was making in her life, and how tough it was trying to cope with a new lifestyle. She liked Psalm 121:3 when I read it: "He will not let your foot slip -- he who watches over you will not slumber." She said that it inspired her. Three years later, she had a job. I couldn't believe this was the same person who had screamed at me, "Why do you care?" And I'd replied, " Because Jesus does." Helping someone in such great need helped me recognize God's presence. I had never before looked after anyone in that way. The challenge of being there, being available anytime to listen, to talk, to convince someone to eat, to stay up night after night worrying and praying -- it was too much. It was the hardest thing to be available to a stranger in crisis, about whom I knew nothing, and to hope and pray that somehow she'd find a reason to live. It was only by God's grace that I was able to show love in the face of hate, acceptance in the face of rejection. I realize more than ever that our God never sleeps. He is the 24-hour-available God. How hard it was for me to give of my time, help, understanding and listening ears to just one person! But God is available for all His own across the world, anytime, anywhere, always. For me, that is too amazing to even comprehend. Now when I wake up in the middle of the night, I know He will be unfailingly there. How blessed I am to be able to reach for His constant presence! I do not take that privilege for granted anymore. ___________________________________________________________ Sudha Khristmukti is a free-lance writer and an independent teacher of English. She lives in Nadiad, Gujarat, India, and belongs to the Methodist Church in India.