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It seems like yesterday I woke up to find my husband slumped over the dining room table. I tried to wake him but his hand was cold. As I read the letter on the table, I couldn't believe it. Though he said he loved me, my husband had committed suicide by a drug overdose. He had a successful medical practice. We had a good marriage; we shared everything. I was in shock for the next year.
As a Hindu, my life ended with my husband's death. The Hindu faith says this tragedy happened because of things I did or didn't do in my previous lives. I was only reaping what I had sown. As I slipped into depression, my three teenage daughters encouraged me to attend the church where they had gone to Sunday school as children. I went, somewhat unwillingly. I was surprised at how loving everyone was towards me. They prayed for me and seemed to really care. At Hindu gatherings, I didn't feel the same love and acceptance.
So I kept going back to church even though I was suspicious of Christians. I didn't think I deserved their love. Gradually, through talking with Christians and reading the Bible, I understood there was nothing I could do to gain God's favour. His love for me doesn't depend on what have or havent done. That's why Jesus died -- to forgive me. He is the only way to God.
Because of that gift of forgiveness, I've been able to forgive my husband and myself for his suicide. Only God can give the peace, love and joy I've experienced since then.
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