This is the true story of Dave, whose life was transformed by love and truth. The names were changed to protect privacy.
“Seek the LORD while He may be found,
Call upon Him while He is near.
Let the wicked forsake his way,
And the unrighteous man his thoughts;
Let him return to the LORD,
And He will have mercy on him;
And to our God,
For He will abundantly pardon.”
—Isaiah 55:6–7
The physician picked up a patient chart from the door at a small clinic. The words were written by the patient in the section for the reason for the visit: “I want to die.”
Well, that’s clear enough, the physician thought. Probably depression. Follow the steps. Assess for suicidal ideation, screen using PHQ-9, evaluate for plans or means, set up safety contracts, prescribe meds and counseling, and arrange follow-ups. In and out in no time. Simple.
He walked into the room and was greeted by a gruff, middle-aged man with a hardened look.
Physician: “Hello, how are you today?”
Dave: “Terrible. I want to die.”
Physician: “Well, that’s getting straight to the point. Are you depressed?”
Dave: “No.”
Physician: “But you want to die?”
Dave: “Yes.”
Confused, the physician opened his notebook and began carefully walking through the diagnostic criteria for major depressive disorder. He asked about changes in sleep, appetite, energy levels, feelings of worthlessness, concentration, and thoughts of self-harm.
Physician: “Have you been feeling sad most of the day, nearly every day?”
Dave: “No, not really. Just feel done.”
Physician: “Any trouble sleeping or sleeping too much?”
Dave: “I sleep fine. Sometimes, I don’t want to get out of bed, but it’s not because I’m tired. It’s just… what’s the point?”
Physician: “Loss of interest in activities you usually enjoy?”
Dave: “I haven’t enjoyed much in years, Doc. But that’s not new.”
Physician: “Appetite changes? Trouble concentrating? Feeling worthless?”
Dave: “Not really. I just think life’s empty. Always has been.”
The physician closed the notebook and looked at Dave thoughtfully. He didn’t really meet the clinical threshold for depression. Not even close. There was something deeper.
This was new. A patient who wanted to die but wasn’t clinically depressed.
Physician: “Would you mind if I went in a different direction?”
Dave: “Help yourself, doctor. I’m here.”
Physician: “What’s the meaning of your life?”
Dave: “My life has no meaning.”
Physician: “What motivates you to get up in the morning?”
Dave: “There is nothing that motivates me.”
Physician: “What’s your purpose for being alive on this earth?”
Dave: “I have no purpose.”
The physician paused.
Physician: “Well, I have good news, and I have bad news. Which do you want first?”
Dave: “Give me the good news.”
Physician: “The good news is you’re not depressed.”
Dave: “Great. I thought we already covered that, Sherlock.”
Unfazed, The physician continued.
Physician: “The bad news is that you have a spiritual problem. You see, meaning, motivation, and purpose—those are spiritual concepts. They point to something bigger than ourselves.”
Dave: “I can’t have a spiritual problem.”
Physician: “Why not?”
Dave: “Because I hate God.”
That’s when the story poured out.
Dave recounted a childhood marked by abuse and betrayal at the hands of the only “Christians” he had ever known—his parents. His father, a church leader, often came home drunk. One night, he hurled him into a wall for denting a lampshade. His mother once pinned him to the ground in a drunken rage, smashed his face into the steps until his teeth broke, and when he cried out, “Mom, you’re breaking my teeth!” she screamed, “You deserve it, damn it!” and drove his face into the ground again.
As he spoke, the bitterness, the anger, and the hurt of fifty years still burned behind his eyes.
Dave: “If that’s what God is like, I want no part of Him.”
Physician: “If that’s what God was like, I wouldn’t want any part of Him either. But that’s not the God I know.”
Still, there was work to do, and the protocol required safety precautions. A contract for no self-harm, counseling, and a low-dose antidepressant was supported by monthly follow-ups with the plan to continue until there was evidence that the patient was safe and would not harm himself.
Month after month, Dave returned—faithfully. Each time, the physician would enter the room and see Dave already seated, arms crossed, often scowling but always present. Their interaction became a ritual.
Physician: “Hey, how are you, Dave?”
Dave: “Terrible. I want to die.”
Physician: “Okay, same as last month. Any changes in how you’re feeling or thinking about harming yourself?”
Dave: “Nope. Still terrible. Still here.”
Physician: “Still willing to keep the safety agreement?”
Dave: “Yeah. Don’t worry, Doc—I’m not gonna do anything dumb.”
This same interaction continued month after month for nearly a year. Each time, the physician would document the visit, ask a few more safety questions, and then they would talk. Over time, their conversations stretched beyond mental health—into books, world events, small talk, even jokes. Dave had a dry wit that began to surface. When he mentioned liking history, it gave the physician an idea.
Physician: “Do you like to read history?” he asked one day.
Dave: “Oh yes, I really like to read history.”
Physician: “You ever read any church history?”
Dave: “No, I can’t say I have.”
Physician: “I have a fascinating book on church history. It covers church history from the beginning of time to the end of time. It is called “The Great Controversy”. It is one of my favorite history books. I have an extra copy, and I will share it with you if you like.”
Dave: “Sure, I will read that.”
And with that question, a new kind of treatment plan quietly began.
By the next visit, Dave had devoured the book. He commented on how it focused on Christians.
Physician: “Do you like to read biographies?”
Dave: “Yes, I do.”
Physician: “I have a biography written on one of the most influential men of all time. It is written about the man the Christians were following in the other book you read. The book is called “The Desire of Ages, ” it’s a biography of the life of Jesus. I love that book, and second to the Bible itself, it has had the most profound impact on me. I have an extra copy if you are interested in reading it.”
Dave: “Sure, I will take a copy”
At the next visit, Dave and the physician discussed Dave’s last book and Jesus. Dave was quite impressed with Jesus’ character. As they spoke, the physician asked,
Physician: “Do you like to read philosophy?”
Dave: “Yes, I love philosophy.”
Physician: “Would you like to read about the philosophy and sayings of the guy you just read about in the Desire of Ages? If so, I have a book you might enjoy that gives Jesus’ philosophy and explains his sayings. It is called “Christ’s Object Lessons.”
Dave: “Sure, that would be great.”
Dave went home with another book to devour over the next month. It was very interesting how things were developing in the clinical interactions. Still, the greeting remained the same month by month.
Physician: “Hey, how are you?”
Dave: “Terrible. I want to die.”
And another month would pass.
Physician: “Hey, how are you?”
Dave: “Terrible. I want to die.”
And another month would pass.
Every month, month after month, always the same.
But over time, something changed. First, it was The Great Controversy. Then came The Desire of Ages. Then came Christ’s Object Lessons, the rest of the five-volume Conflict of the Ages series, Steps to Christ, Thoughts from the Mount of Blessings, The Ministry of Healing, and more.
Dave read, or more accurately, devoured, everything. Soon, the physician recognized that Dave began to regularly use quotes and concepts from these books in his conversations.
Still, each month, the greeting remained the same—
Physician: “Hey, how are you?”
Dave: “Terrible. I want to die.”
Until one day, nearly a year later.
Physician: “Hey, how are you?”
Dave: “I’m wonderful!”
The physician blinked. Wonderful? He checked the chart. Same Dave.
Physician: “What do you mean, Wonderful? How are you, Wonderful?”
Dave: “Well, at least wonderful as of May 28th,
Physician: “OK, I’m going to bite, so what happened on May 28”
Dave: “That is the day I gave my life to Jesus Christ, and I don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner. I have so much peace, I have joy, and I can’t wait to tell everyone about my Jesus. All I want to do is share with everyone, everywhere.”
He radiated a new spirit—gratitude, not bitterness. Joy, not scorn. After this sudden turn of events, although he didn’t meet the criteria for clinical depression, but out of concern about self-harm, just as a matter of caution, the monthly visits continued for a time. In the several months that followed, Dave was diagnosed with not just one but two terminal illnesses. He was told he would probably die in the next 6 months. His time on earth was now measured in weeks to a few short months.
Several months later, Dave was at the hospice house as he was expected to die in the next few days. The physician visited him and stayed and spoke for a while. Dave was teasing the medical student that had accompanied the physician, pimping him on medical issues and making fun of him, his spirit still full of life, even as his body faded.
Sitting beside him, in a quiet moment, the physician asked a question.
Physician: “Dave, do you mind if I ask you something personal?”
Dave: “Sure, Doc, you know we’re friends. You can ask anything you want.”
Physician: “Dave, are you bitter?”
Dave: “Bitter?”
Physician: “Yes. Bitter. I mean, all your life, you were healthy, then you meet Jesus—and within six months, you have not one, but two terminal illnesses. And you and I both know in a few days, you will breathe your last; you’re dying. I want to know, are you bitter?”
Dave stared off thoughtfully.
Dave: “No, Doc. I’m not bitter. In fact, I serve a merciful Savior. I’m grateful. If I had died before I knew Jesus and before I trusted Him, I would’ve gone to my grave cursing God. But now? Now, I trust Him. When I die, I have faith in Him, and I know the very next thing I see will be the face of my Jesus. and I will see Him soon. But you, You doc, will have to wait.”
Later that week, the physician received the call. Dave had died.
But Dave died in faith, and Dave died in hope. He died in Jesus Christ.
“Here is the patience of the saints; here are those who keep the commandments of God and the faith of Jesus.
Then I heard a voice from heaven saying to me, ‘Write: Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.’
‘Yes,’ says the Spirit, ‘that they may rest from their labors, and their works follow them.’”
—Revelation 14:12–13
To the doctors, pastors, students, and leaders reading this:
You may never know how a simple question, an act of compassion, or a timely book can change a life—or even an eternity. Dave’s story is true, but it is not just another patient case. It is a testimony of God’s power to heal the brokenhearted and give beauty for ashes.
Don’t underestimate the value of your influence. Don’t assume someone is too far gone. And never forget: Our work is to watch for souls, to introduce people to Jesus, the Friend who transforms lives—even near the end of them.
“Let him return to the LORD,
And He will have mercy on him;
And to our God,
For He will abundantly pardon.”
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