(My post Life>Death chronicles my struggle with suicidal depression. This story is based on the vision God used to save my life.)
It all started after the knife sliced through my wrist. As I watched my life drain away, I felt a sense of peace. I knew my pain was finally over.
Soft arms lifted me up and carried me off to Heaven. There I watched as my parents found my body. They started to cry, which I had expected. What I hadn't expected was what they were saying. "What did we do wrong?" they cried out.
"Nothing!" I screamed. "You did nothing wrong!" But they couldn't hear me. What had I done?
As my friends and other family members found out about my death, they said the same thing, and I continued screaming that it wasn't their fault. Their reactions caused me to be in agony, which struck me as strange. If indeed I was in Heaven, wasn't I supposed to be pain free? That is what I had always been taught.
Then came my funeral. It was supposed to be a service of death of resurrection, but many people there were wondering if I would be resurrected. I was beginning to wonder that myself. Then came the time for people to come up and share remembrances of me, but no one did. They were all thinking the same thing, "How can we share the good things about her life when she thought it was horrible enough to cause her to end it?"
The pain reached a crescendo. It grew so intense I would have vomited if I had still had a stomach. Blindly pushing myself to my feet, I turned and started sprinting toward the throne room. My bare feet pounded the golden streets for miles and miles with a speed I never would have been capable of on Earth. When I finally reached God's throne, I collapsed in front of it utterly enervated. "Sorry," I whispered with what little breath I had left, "I'm so sorry."
As my voice returned, I continued. "Please forgive me," I begged, "I didn't think. I was selfish and I don't deserve to be here. I have hurt the people I loved because I wanted to escape my own hurt. Now I see that my life wasn't that bad, and I'd do anything to go back."
When I opened my eyes, I was standing in my room with a knife in one hand and looking at a whole, undamaged wrist. I let the knife drop, sank to my knees, and started to sob. "Thank you," I choked out, "thank you." I had been given a second chance, and I wasn't going to waste it.
It all started after the knife sliced through my wrist. As I watched my life drain away, I felt a sense of peace. I knew my pain was finally over.
Soft arms lifted me up and carried me off to Heaven. There I watched as my parents found my body. They started to cry, which I had expected. What I hadn't expected was what they were saying. "What did we do wrong?" they cried out.
"Nothing!" I screamed. "You did nothing wrong!" But they couldn't hear me. What had I done?
As my friends and other family members found out about my death, they said the same thing, and I continued screaming that it wasn't their fault. Their reactions caused me to be in agony, which struck me as strange. If indeed I was in Heaven, wasn't I supposed to be pain free? That is what I had always been taught.
Then came my funeral. It was supposed to be a service of death of resurrection, but many people there were wondering if I would be resurrected. I was beginning to wonder that myself. Then came the time for people to come up and share remembrances of me, but no one did. They were all thinking the same thing, "How can we share the good things about her life when she thought it was horrible enough to cause her to end it?"
The pain reached a crescendo. It grew so intense I would have vomited if I had still had a stomach. Blindly pushing myself to my feet, I turned and started sprinting toward the throne room. My bare feet pounded the golden streets for miles and miles with a speed I never would have been capable of on Earth. When I finally reached God's throne, I collapsed in front of it utterly enervated. "Sorry," I whispered with what little breath I had left, "I'm so sorry."
As my voice returned, I continued. "Please forgive me," I begged, "I didn't think. I was selfish and I don't deserve to be here. I have hurt the people I loved because I wanted to escape my own hurt. Now I see that my life wasn't that bad, and I'd do anything to go back."
When I opened my eyes, I was standing in my room with a knife in one hand and looking at a whole, undamaged wrist. I let the knife drop, sank to my knees, and started to sob. "Thank you," I choked out, "thank you." I had been given a second chance, and I wasn't going to waste it.
Powerful, Amy!
ReplyDeleteI never knew this about you.
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