"Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives, and when he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?" Clarence—Angel Second Class from the movie It's A Wonderful Life.
Take a good look at that face. If you've seen the movie It's A Wonderful Life, then you recognize it. That's George Bailey at the lowest point in his life. He's in serious trouble, and many of his friends and family members are praying and asking God to help him.
It's Christmas Eve, and an arrest warrant is about to be sworn out for George. Misappropriation of funds, manipulation, malfeasance... There is eight thousand dollars missing from the Bailey Brothers Building and Loan. It's a crucial night for George because he's discouraged and seriously thinking of throwing away his life. He believes his only remaining option for repaying the missing money is his fifteen-thousand-dollar life insurance policy, but it only has a cash value of five hundred dollars. He realizes he's worth more dead than alive.
In heartrending desperation, George Bailey prays, "God...God Dear Father in Heaven, I'm not a praying man, but if you're up there and you can hear me, show me the way. I'm at the end of my rope. Show me the way, God."
Have you ever felt like George—that you've reached the end of your rope? Maybe you feel that way now. You're hurting! You're not just discouraged, but desperate. You feel so hopeless, sad, lonely, or maybe ashamed of something you've done or what someone has done to you. You're barely hanging on, and you can't believe you're even considering a choice between life or death, living or dying. You've lost all hope that things will get better, and you're drowning in despair. Your depression isn't a rut; it's a canyon. You feel like your life is a long walk beneath a cloudy night sky. You can't even see your hand in front of your face and certainly can't see that you have a future in front of you either. But you do! You just haven't seen it yet. So hold on—don't ever give up!
Even though you desperately want to live—or maybe you don't—the pain of living makes you want to give up. You're tired of living in darkness. You question whether holding on is even worth it? Will things change? Will the loneliness or sadness ever go away? Will life get better? Does one life—your life—really matter? Is your life even worth saving? What value are you, not just to yourself, but to those who love you or to anyone else in the world? Does your life really count for anything? Would you be missed if you were gone forever? Life can be incredibly challenging, and sometimes we find ourselves grappling with these profound questions. Yet, as we explore this true story of another man literally at the end of his rope, we may discover that even in our darkest moments, our lives hold immense value and purpose.
John Howland, a passenger on the Mayflower, stood on the top deck during a ferocious storm at sea. Perhaps he was helping the sailors fight against the tempest, or maybe he sought to escape the squalid conditions below deck. The reason for his presence in such hazardous conditions remains unknown, but what unfolded next is etched in history. Suddenly, he was thrown into the sea—whether by a crashing wave or the mighty tossing of the ship, we can only imagine.
Now submerged, he grappled with a life-and-death struggle. Drowning, he barely managed to surface for air, tossed by the relentless waves. His wet clothing weighing him down like an anchor. Desperate, he needed a miracle—a lifeline to survive. And then, unbelievably, it appeared before his eyes: a single rope, a top-sail halyard, trailing in the water. Within reach, he clung to it, literally at the end of his rope, holding on for dear life.
John Howland survived the fate of a watery grave and later married fellow passenger Elizabeth Tilley. I imagine there were many occasions where he gladly recounted to his ten children and more than eighty grandchildren the story of his miraculous rescue. Today, there are over two million descendants who owe their own lives to his deliverance—myself included. He is my ninth great-grandfather. Among all the Mayflower pilgrims, he most likely has the single largest posterity in North America, which includes many noteworthy individuals, presidents, Hollywood celebrities, and countless others. His one life mattered, and so does yours!
The near drowning of John Howland can also be compared to George Bailey's brother Harry in the movie It's A Wonderful Life. George saves his nine-year-old little brother from drowning when he breaks through the ice while sledding. Harry then grows up, goes off to war, and wins the Congressional Medal of Honor for saving all the men on a troop transport. Every man on the transport would have died if Harry wasn't there to save them. He wouldn't have been there if George hadn't been around to save Harry. It's like Clarence the angel said, "Each man's life touches so many other lives, and when he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?"
There was once a time where I too reached the end of my rope. I was discouraged and seriously considering throwing my life away like George Bailey. Here is my story...and the miracle that saved me!
In the summer of 1979, fresh out of high school, I found myself in Blue Hill, Maine, with no concrete plans for my future. College? Job? I had no idea what to do next. Then everything changed with a sales advertisement for inexpensive retirement homes in St. Augustine, Florida. The timing was perfect. My grandmother had passed away earlier that year, leaving me with an unexpected inheritance. Suddenly, the idea of owning a place in the Sunshine State became more than just a passing thought. I weighed my options. Renting was practical, but buying was an investment in my future. I knew I had to live somewhere, so why not Florida? Goodbye, New England winters; hello, sugar sand beaches and palm trees swaying to tropical breezes. I was heading off to paradise.
In September, with my car packed full of camping gear and my bicycle strapped to the back, I left my home in Lincoln, New Hampshire. Avoiding the East Coast traffic and major cities, I spent my first night camping in Connecticut. From there, I followed Route 81 down through Pennsylvania, visiting the historic Gettysburg battlefield. My mother insisted I drop in to see her friend’s daughter, a student at Gettysburg College. Continuing my journey, I camped along the scenic Blue Ridge Parkway and enjoyed visiting Luray Caverns. After detouring to visit relatives in Atlanta, it happened—the moment I knew I was nearing my destination. At a Valdosta, Georgia McDonald's, I glimpsed my first palm tree.
When I drove into St. Augustine, I was greeted by a flooding tropical downpour. I'd never seen it rain so hard, and the water barely had time to run off the road. It didn't dampen my spirits, though. I was excited, and from what I could see through the frantic windshield wipers, it was a whole new world. Everything looked different; I wasn't in the White Mountains of New Hampshire anymore. I checked into a motel, bought a local newspaper, and started searching the classifieds for a place to live.
Within three days, I'd moved into a rooming house near the historic downtown section of the city, close to Ripley's Believe It or Not Museum. It would be my home for the next year and a half. There were three bedrooms that shared a bath and a small kitchen. The rent per bedroom was $175 a month. The man who owned the house, John Cupo, was my parents' age and would become a very good friend. He lived in a back apartment with his daughter and young grandson.
John was responsible for helping me secure my first job. He had rented a room to a man who quit his job at the St. Augustine Floor and Carpet Cleaning Company and then moved out. That's when I moved in, and John contacted the business owner on my behalf. The next week I was cleaning carpets, floors, windows, and more. Every time I visit historic Saint George Street with its tourist shops, I'm reminded of this period of my life. I cleaned almost every window on that street.
Now, that I'd settled in, it was time to handle some business—the real reason I'd moved to St. Augustine in the first place. In October, my mother flew down from Bangor, Maine, for a long weekend and stayed at the Ponce de Leon Hotel. In the dining room, we met a crowd of mostly retired seniors from all over the country and listened to a Deltona Homes sales presentation. My mom was there to make sure I wasn't swindled and wouldn't end up with some prime swamp land.
We later headed south of the city to St. Augustine Shores and toured their model homes. Everything was fresh, clean, and new. Even the yards were manicured to perfection. That's when I saw what my future home would someday look like. It was a cinder block house with 943 square feet, two bedrooms, and 1 1/2 baths. I could have all of that for $37,000, and with another $2,000 or so for the kitchen appliances, it was a good deal. I'd also get to pick out my own lot for $700. I couldn't believe I was actually buying a house at nineteen years of age. Among all the other older buyers, I thought I was the youngest, but an eighteen-year-old beat me to that title. After the long weekend was over, my mother flew back home, and I handled the rest.
The salesman toured me around the community and showed me a building lot backing up to another neighborhood with larger lots. It had an open green space with a horse. I loved it! I wouldn't have to look at my neighbor's back yard. It was perfect. I signed all the paperwork, gave him my deposit, and then had to wait for it to be built. In the meantime, I continued to live at John's house and worked through the winter.
John had another vacancy and ended up renting a room to a young guy named Danny. He was probably in his early to mid-twenties. John always said that the people who rented from him were either moving on up or moving on down (the social ladder). We couldn't tell what direction Danny was headed. He seemed to be doing okay. He found a job working at Pizza Hut and would sometimes bring pizza home to share. He was a nice guy, but we knew absolutely nothing about his background or what his story was.
The reason I'm even mentioning Danny is because of what happened next and how it directly relates to me. Up to this point in my life, I hadn't really dreamed—or at least never remembered any of my dreams. There was nothing noteworthy to mention. That is, until Danny. I had a dream about him and remembered enough of it to describe it to him. I don't recall any of it now. However, I do remember that he was very interested in what I had to say. I'm not quite sure exactly what I told him, other than there were people looking for him—maybe law enforcement. I'd apparently struck a nerve because he quizzed me about the dream and seemed to take it seriously. He was definitely concerned about something. Perhaps he really was on the run from something or someone?
My dream must have held some truth, because I soon learned from John that Danny had quit his job, moved out, and disappeared to parts unknown. He apparently was a man on the run, and I never found out why. All of this left me wondering: Was my dream not just a dream? Looking back now, I can see that it was from God. It prepared me to pay close attention to my next dream and to know that it wasn't merely a creation of my imagination or subconscious. It wouldn't happen for another two years, but it's a dream that would ultimately save my life.
My cleaning job ended in early spring when business slowed down, and I was let go. My boss had another employee who had worked for him longer and decided he didn't need two full-time workers. A month or two later, business had picked back up, and he wanted to rehire me. I would have returned, but I had decided to spend the summer with my parents in Maine. I was still waiting for my house to be built, and John didn't have air conditioning in my bedroom. There was no way I was going to endure a long, hot, and steamy summer in Florida when I had a cooler option available. Plus, I also wouldn't mind having some of my mom's home cooking again—I'd had enough TV dinners. I missed my mom and dad, and it would be nice to be home for the summer.
That fall, when I returned to St. Augustine, I moved back into my old spot at John's house. He'd kept a room available for me, which I really appreciated. It made things much easier than having to find another temporary place to live. I still had to wait a few months until Thanksgiving of 1980 before the construction of my house was completed and I could move in. When the day finally arrived, it was like a dream come true. I almost couldn't believe that I'd moved all by myself from my home in New Hampshire, traveled over 1,300 miles, gotten a job, and started a whole new life so far away from where I'd grown up. For a nineteen-year-old, it was a thrilling adventure, and I got to live it.
Things were going great, and I was super excited and very happy. Who wouldn't be? I now had my own house in Florida! When I first turned the key to the front door of my new house, everything was perfect. Or so it seemed. What could possibly go wrong? I had no idea that when I walked through the door, I was entering what would be the worst and darkest period of my life—it almost killed me. I almost killed me!
The rest of my story will continue in God Only Knows - Part II.
As I write my own story, I can't help but think about all the unwritten stories from countless others who have struggled with loneliness or depression. Perhaps that's you? Maybe you're grappling with something so painful and sad that you can't seem to pick up the pieces of your life, and it's killing you. Remember, we all face our battles in one form or another. You are not alone.
I've added for KING & COUNTRY'S - "God Only Knows" music video. Listen closely to the lyrics as they're so powerful and true! "God only knows - what you've been through...God only knows where to find you, God only knows how to break through, God only knows the real you. There's a kind of love that God only knows."
Suicide is a leading cause of death in the United States. According to the National Institute of Mental Health and the CDC, in 2017:
Suicide was the tenth leading cause of death overall in the United States, claiming the lives of over 47,000 people.
Suicide was the second leading cause of death among individuals between the ages of 10 and 34.
Additionally, it ranked as the fourth leading cause of death among individuals between the ages of 34 and 54.
Shockingly, there were more than twice as many suicides (47,173) in the United States as there were homicides (19,510).
Help is available: Reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline by dialing or texting 988. Available 24/7
BIBLIOGRAPHY - Illustrations
Lynch, P.J. - The Boy Who Fell Off the Mayflower. Massachusetts: Candlewick, 2015
The next post titled God Only Knows - Part II continues at:
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