Dying

Kneeling down with my hands tied to my back, I am a prisoner. I can see just too clearly, the moments before my time. I guess a blindfold was too much to ask. Heavy snow falls with no one else in sight, just my executioner. As the spiritless barrel touches the back of my head, I am shivering from either the cold or the fear. As the piercing wind calms down to whisper me its last words, all I hear is a click.

As a child of God, I expected the gun to malfunction. Maybe I would be able to react in that split second and overtake the enemy. Considering that I am rather a coward, an ally might come and rescue me. With the glorious upset, celebration of God’s greatness would be abounding. I would be back home safe and sound. The trials and tribulations would be stories to be told to my grandkids. I would travel across the world to share this story and inspire many of the younger generation to seek God out. I would close my eyes in the comfort of my home with my family surrounding me. However, the joys and relief were but imaginations of my head, as I am now laid unto the ground, dead. More snow falls and gently covers me.

I had always expected to see what is due for me from God within this life. I would hit bottom, but be raised with His outstretched arm. Jesus never came for that. He came to die for the sins of the world. He did not come to die partially, die figuratively, but to just die.

“He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; he was led like a lamb to slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth.”

“Therefore I will give him a portion among the great, and he will divide the spoils with the strong, because he poured out his life unto death, and was numbered with the transgressors. For he bore the sin of many, and made intercession for the transgressors.” Isaiah 53: 7, 12

How am I doing? How am I dying?