It was not a good day for me. The morning found me tied between two poles like a battle between right and wrong. Chains bound my wrist tightly, suspended in the air to where I could barely stand in place, it was that or sink half way to my knees. The same as every day for a week, I was woken by the cold splash of water thrown on me by those who held me prisoner-- for no other reason than the need of a landing field a mission sat near.
In the last week before, I had watched with my own eyes as those I knew as friends were killed one by one. A mission Priest and a Nun were first to go, only a day apart. The Priest, shot in the head, his only crime was to run a mission clinic in the village where planes landed in the jungle. The Sister was brutally assaulted before they finally crushed her skull-- their own personal glee in the act could only be described as ecstasy.
They came for me then, dragging me to the post that would be my final stand in life, and hung me there in the hot sun, soaking me with water twice daily to prolong the agony of my dying. It was not a good day as the soldiers brought the last of my friends, a true brother in the Lord, held him before me to watch as they put a gun to his head.
Every day after that was painful to stay alive. I wished and yes, I prayed, that I would end quickly. My torment was such that I began to curse even the day I was born, for it brought me to that place of sorrow. In the end I begged to die, for my life was as nothing– not to me, not to those holding me, nor did I think it was much to God at that time. In my mind that day, I truly felt the worth of my own existence. And it meant nothing.
All the works I had done in my life, trying to help others, teaching of the Lord’s love and sacrifice, to show the light of God’s true will to my fellow man. It seemed as though it was all for nothing, and had no purpose except to make myself seem good in the eyes of God, and on that day, I felt He no-longer cared. It was not a good day for me, all I wanted to do was die.
The few days that followed were a living nightmare, both the horror of unconscious visions and the waking delusions of my own shattered sanity. From one moment to the next, not knowing if it would be my last breath, or even caring if it was.
As my mind began to slip away in those final hours, when all hope had left me, I could only wish for pain on those who held me. I begged of a loving God to bring down His wrath on them and all those like them. In my mind I screamed, in my heart I shouted so loudly, yet outward all I could do was cry-- one simple desire.
“My God, have mercy on this lowly man.”
No, it was not a good day for me, it was a great day. As the sun slowly went down, my eyes so clouded with pain and hate, hazy from weakness and lack food, I saw the truth of my being. Hope came unlooked for, rescued on the brink of death. It was then I learned my greatest lessons. When I become nothing in my own eyes, and the world sees me as a waste, with God, I still have hope.
PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR,
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As one who has read the whole story, I was swept away by your heartbreaking experience. I wanted to reach into the computer and save you from your agony. To find the life lessons that you learned after rescue, I realized that this was your cross and cheered for your release from impending agony and death. Blessings dear brother. I'm so grateful you are still among the living.
This article had my attention to the end. The feelings of devestation were well conveyed - as I read, I found myself thinking "come on, you know that God is right there with you" and yet - at the end of the story I saw that the character did indeed have solid faith that he was in Christ and ultimately, that is what really mattered.