The day I met my Savior was the day I died. Everything I once thought was just a myth to scare away reality. Everything I thought brought happiness led me only to despair. Self-pity was of no solace any more. Whatever I was, was slain. My body turned too decaying flesh, stripped off and buried with the dead.
My life didn’t have a chance to flash before my eyes. When I met Him beneath a broken heart, everything I was disappeared into nothingness. With a whispered plea for the torturous darkness to end, my pain was sucked into a black hole, ripped to shreds, and sent to hell with all the other misery that I had submerged myself in. I was overcome with something I never knew before. Peace.
He snatched my wickedness and drowned it in the blood pouring from his wrists. He took back what was stolen from Him. He took my darkened soul and He turned on the lights. He touched my dirtied hands and feet and shined through my fingertips, my toes, my eyes, with rays so brilliant they were blinding. He clothed the nakedness, comforted my vulnerability, accepted the awry innocence. He submersed me in a river and the more intense His love became, the more ecstasy I experienced. I convulsed, I cried, I burned, I smiled, I laughed with an unspeakable joy.
My first heart beat after I died was like an infant’s first breath. Air finally being released after a lifetime of screaming, crying, begging for the horror to end. A fire roared so violently; the desire, the passion, the new life of pleasure I was awakened too was overwhelming.
The day I met my Savior was the day I died. It was the day when I truly lived for the first time.