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Weanne Myrrh. 20. Filipina Seventh-day Adventist.

Past Posts

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Wednesday, October 28
Goosebumps

I feel weird. My palms are tingling and I’m tachycardic.

No, it’s not because of love.

Just a few minutes ago, my sister shouted from the living room that an accident had occurred in front of the Philippine International Church and that two were dead. She got the news from a post in Facebook.

Cue the feeling mentioned above.

Just a week ago, a little kid had gotten hit by a truck while inside the AUP Campus. And now this. Frankly, I was quite shook up. Accidents occurring in AUP? This was too close to home. AUP is my haven, my comfort zone, my safe place. In my eyes, AUP had a force field, protecting it from dangers. Accidents don’t happen here. People don’t die in accidents here. News like that turn my knees to jelly, making them automatically kneel in front of God, scared.

It turned out that it was just a joke. True, an accident had occurred after midweek. But the only things dead were the car engines.

It was a mean joke. Really, I’ll never believe in Facebook gossip again. But in those moments when I thought the news were honest to goodness real, I had an epiphany.

Life is short. Accidents happen. People die. AUP Kids are no exemption. Earlier today, while I was crossing the streets of Silang to board the clunky AUP bus, I forgot to stop, look and listen. Dazed, I had crossed the street, not noticing that a scooter was almost about to hit me.

It could’ve been a truck, or a car. Thank you, guardian angel.

It made me think about death yet again. I’ve contemplated about death so many times in my twenty years, and I know the exact thoughts that are probably going to flash through my head in the split second that it takes for me to give my final breath. No snapshots of my life flashing before my very eyes. Just this thought.

“Jesus. Save me.”

No, I don’t mean that He save me from the clutches of death. It’s not a desperate cry for help. Rather, those three last words are a plea for eternal life. Jesus, forgive me from my sins. Jesus, I’m about to die. Please give me eternal life. Jesus. Please. Despite the sins of my life. Save me.

I know He already has. Saved me, I mean. More than two thousand years ago, on the cross, a condemned robber painstakingly whispered my future script. “Jesus, remember me when Thou comest into Thy Kingdom.”

The last words of a dying man. Jesus, save me.

And just a few hours later, Jesus did the one thing that could answer that sinner’s prayer. He died on the cross. In that glorious, heartbreaking moment, the plan of salvation was fulfilled. The robber was saved. The world was saved.

I was saved.

So why am I still scared? Why does the thought of my death still terrify me so much? Why don’t I have the serenity to face death trusting that the next time my eyes open, my Savior would be descending from the clouds?

I have a few theories. Maybe it’s because I know I’m not yet ready. Maybe it’s because I haven’t loved Jesus enough to trust Him fully. I haven’t surrendered my life to Him that way. Maybe.

Right here, right now, in my bed, I’m making a decision. I don’t want a deathbed conversion. I don’t want the last seconds of my life to be a scared plea to God. I want to find the quiet peace that comes from knowing that though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil because the Lord is with me.

I pray that you will too.

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My palms are still tingling.