Skip to main content

April is the Cruelest Month


I opened my curtain this morning, saw a brilliant blue sky, and remembered, "April is the cruelest month..."  April is when suicide rates start to rise, to peak in June. Then, as is my habit, I said Morning Prayer, a spiritual discipline of prayers, psalms and bible readings. The assigned psalm for today is Psalm 20:


May the LORD answer you in the day of trouble,
the Name of the God of Jacob defend you;
Send you help from his holy place
and strengthen you out of Zion;
Remember all your offerings
and accept your burnt sacrifice;
Grant you your heart's desire
and prosper all your plans.
We will shout for joy at your victory
and triumph in the Name of our God;
May the LORD grant all your requests.

If April is the cruelest month for you, my friend, I prayed this prayer for you.  Now, this sort of thing doesn't always help me. And no blame, God, no blame, if it doesn't help you.  But if it does help you today, there it is.  We will shout for joy, you and me and all of us who know what I am talking about, at your victory.

And while I have anybody else's attention, suicide prevention is not usually a dramatic, last minute intervention.  Suicide happens when pain exceeds resources for coping with pain. Let me repeat that.  Suicide happens when pain exceeds resources for coping with pain.  Every day, in any little way, you are a resource.  Or not.  Kindness.  That's the ticket.  Just pay attention to someone who may be struggling.  And do something, anything kind.

That's all.

Comments

Popular Posts

In the Bleak Midwinter

For Prozac Monologues readers whatever your state this holiday.



In the bleak mid-winter frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak mid-winter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty Jesus Christ.

Angles and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air,
But his mother only in her maiden bliss
Worshipped the Beloved with a kiss.

What can I give Him, poor as I am? If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb,
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part, –
Yet what I can I give Him, give my heart.

poem by Christina Rossetti, 1872 painting by Ivan Shishkin, 1890

Six Ways to Heal the Holes in Your Head

Bohemian Chanukah

A great miracle happened there.



Happy Hanukkah to all Prozac Monologues readers.
Let the light shine!