As midnight approached and I felt the weight of my doom sinking into me more and more so, I prayed to The LORD Almighty, and asked that He would save me, rescue me, from this callousness of mind, this flippancy toward His commands, the coldheartedness with which I looked at the atonement of my sin, the life and death of Christ Jesus.
As the dawn approached, I felt my flesh cool. A last minute nighttime breeze passed through me, and the 95 degree heat abated.
A few hours later, I heard my mother, approaching 70, wailing in agony. I stood at the bedpost looking upon her, sobbing myself, and figuring this was bound to happen. I wanted to hug her and comfort her, but the reality she was facing was simply of no comfort. Her son was dead. She spent many days trying to persuade me to join the Faith, and not stay stuck in a life of meaninglessness and faithlessness. A decade ago, as I was about 30 years old, her gentle persistency had paid off, and I came to the Faith. Now, the fruits of my labor, if one could even call it that, mostly hers, her evangelism, sharing the Truth that she cherished herself, had come to fruition. I was to be Home, taken to the city of my final destination.
As I watched on my all my sobbing family - my mom, sister, and in laws of my sister (I'd never married) - gathered around, my sister also weeping, understandably not as hard as my mom, the rest mostly just standing in dismay, I felt a presence behind me and its' voice protruding:
"It is time to go."
"Who will deliver me from this body of death? 25 Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!"
Romans 7:24
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