Heather Harpham Kopp
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The Dad Who Wasn’t There
About a year after our father died, my sister Kathy became suicidal and was admitted into the psychiatric ward of the hospital. She had attempted suicide in the past. Now her despair was an unprotested submission to defeat. Five years of counseling and prayer seemed to have changed little.
“I’m so tired of trying,” she told me one day. “I don’t feel close to God. I don’t care about living. If it weren’t for my kids, I’d just give up.”
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Longing for the Dad Who Wasn’t There
About a year after our father died, my sister Kathy became suicidal and was admitted into the psychiatric ward of the hospital. She had attempted suicide in the past. Now her despair was an unprotested submission to defeat. Five years of counseling and prayer seemed to have changed little.
“I’m so tired of trying,” she told me one day. “I don’t feel close to God. I don’t care about living. If it weren’t for my kids, I’d just give up.”