I can’t remember his exact words, but I remember clearly the vivid images they created in my mind. I saw myself standing in a long line of people, waiting, and every now and then the queue would move slowly forward. Yet as it did so, I became increasingly overwhelmed by a paralysing dread. You see, I was waiting to stand in judgement before God.
And all around me were these piles of books, diaries, and in those diaries was every single word I had ever spoken, every single thought I had ever had and every action I had ever taken. I knew that once I got to the front of the queue they were going to be read aloud, one by one, in my hearing. Based on their contents my eternal fate would be decided.
The thing is, I already knew what the outcome would be. I already knew that the first few words would condemn me. I knew that in front of a holy and perfect God, I could never meet the required standard of perfection and I would face His wrath.
But then… Jesus comes wandering straight down the side of the queue and He stops right next to me, casual as anything. I look at Him in alarm and surprise wondering what on earth this man could possibly want at such a time as this. But He doesn’t ask for anything. Instead, He looks me straight in the eyes, smiles warmly and deeply and holds out a book to me.
‘I’ll swap you’ He says.
I reach out and take it, confusion characterising my every feature. I turn it over in my hands and trace the gold-lettered words on the front with my fingers ‘Holy Bible’
I look up quickly to seek further clarity but He’s not there anymore and as I look around frantically for Him, I realise He has walked around me and taken my place in the queue. He doesn’t look at me now but looks resolutely ahead of Him.
At this, my mouth falls open, speechless. Because I know what this means.
I know He’s going to get to the front of the queue and He’s going to take the punishment that I rightly deserve for my sins recorded in those diaries and I am staggered because I know He doesn’t deserve it. I know that none of it is His mess but He’s going to endure it anyway in a selfless act of love.
What’s more, I know that although I will still stand before God, I will now be judged on the book that I hold in my hand, the one book that details the perfect life of Jesus. Only His record is clean enough to stand confidently before God and He has given it to me. As a result, I will not face the wrath of God, and I will not be treated as I deserve but God the Father will now treat me as He treats Jesus, a beloved son, and me a beloved daughter. I will walk away a free woman.
This is grace.
***
At this, my throat tightens, and I swallow hard trying not to cry because it’s like a lightbulb has gone off in my head. For the first time in 19 years, I finally get it. I finally get what Jesus dying on the cross means for me, what He’s saved me from and the love that drove Him to that horrifying death. I finally get that accepting Him as Lord and Saviour is equivalent to accepting that book, a free gift with profoundly positive consequences.
I remember the overwhelming sensation I had of wanting to run from that university room, fall to my knees and sob…not out of guilt, not out of shame but out of pure love and gratitude to the man who gave His life for mine.
Except I don’t do that, I sit there in the dark trying to control my breathing, hoping no one notices the tears streaming down my face. When the lights come up, I hastily wipe them away, trying to look indifferent. Inside, I am anything but.
***
Fast forward 3 months, and I am sat on my bedroom floor. It’s late afternoon on a Saturday in May and summer sunshine is streaming through my window. Normally this would make me happy, but I don’t feel happy. In fact, I don’t feel anything.
Since my mini revelation, I have been trying to get life back on track my own way, by doing the things I think a good person does, as if I can somehow make it up to Jesus for the kindness He has shown me. I try to swear less and drink less, I’ve been going back to church and praying. Heck, I’ve even spent some time reading the Bible with Hannah, something I’d never done before.
The issue is, as hard as I try, I just keep screwing up.
I’ve woken up that very morning in an absolute alcohol-induced state. I’ve had a severe argument and fallen out with one of my best friends and my flatmate has just informed me that some scary girl from my university halls is on my case - something to do with an incident in the club the night before and her boyfriend and I. Frankly, I can’t remember.
To top it all, I’ve had a conversation with another Christian that has thrown me into a tailspin, and I suddenly wonder if I’ve got God all wrong. I’m not sure I like Him. I’m no longer sure I want to follow Him.
I spend a few hours wondering if any of it is worth it – this religion thing. I wonder if I’d be freer if I didn’t believe in God. I question everything I’ve ever been taught; I question whether God exists. I briefly question my own sanity.
‘I’m done!’ I whisper to the air. ‘I’m not angry, I’m not sad, I’m just done. If you are remotely real, if you exist at all, you have to prove it to me in an undeniable way, because right now I’m done’
***
The next evening finds me at Hannah’s church. I don’t know how I’ve come to be here despite the previous day’s declaration. Once again, I’m following through on a promise but once again I’m somewhere I don’t want to be. I scowl thinking about it. I feel angry and bitter and resentful; I feel like a black hole. I’m waiting for the talk to finish, I’m waiting for the words that I know will come ‘We’re finished for the evening’ and then I can leave.
They finally come, but I don’t move.
I can’t move.
I’m distracted by my heart doing this crazy thing.
It’s beating so strongly that I am genuinely concerned it might explode in my chest. I wonder if that is a medical possibility. I wonder if this is what having a heart attack feels like. I run through the signs, but I know I’m not in pain and I know I’m not having an adrenaline rush either and so the abnormality scares me all the more.
I try taking deep breaths to slow it down, but nothing works. It’s not out of control, it’s just freakishly strong and steady and hard. It’s like it’s compelling me.
The thought pops into my head that this might be God trying to get my attention, but I bat it away quickly. I’m scared. I don’t want it. I don’t want God. I finished with Him yesterday, remember? I begin to shake, my hands sweating.
In a moment of panic, I look to the exit and have an out-of-body experience where my future flashes before my eyes. I see myself leaving the room and carrying on with my life. It looks the same as it always has done, eating and drinking, dancing, and laughing with friends and family. It looks good, it looks desirable except for the fact that the whole thing is in black and white.
Somehow, I know that it represents life apart from God. Somehow, I know instinctively that if I don’t respond to this call on my heart, if I leave the room without taking action, then that will be my life forever, seemingly normal and vibrant and good on the outside, yet dead to all that actually matters.
I decide I don’t want that. I want a life in colour.
After a moment of deliberation, I bite the bullet, grab Hannah by the wrist and drag her out of the row. ‘I’ll just ask her to pray for me, no big deal’ I repeat to myself over and over.
I turn to look at her, the surprise on her face etched into my mind to this day, and I burst into tears that I didn’t know were there. I somehow manage to mouth the words ‘pray for me’. Immediately, she walks up to me, embraces me in one big hug and begins to pray.
I don’t remember her exact words, but I remember clearly the way I felt.
I feel some kind of warmth and presence that I know is not Hannah and in an instant, I stop crying and a huge grin spreads across my face.
I feel like an invisible weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I feel light. I feel free.
I feel love - but not in any way I’ve ever felt it before. I feel love as if it is the only real and true thing in the world, as solid as the girl with her arms around me.
I feel peace so deep that I have the distinct thought ‘wow, I thought I knew what peace was, but I have never known peace until this moment’
I feel uncharacteristically invincible. I no longer fear death. In fact, I know it to be true that I could die that very moment and everything would genuinely be ok.
I feel high and drunk at the same time although I’ve touched neither drugs nor alcohol. I feel happy and for the first time, maybe ever, I feel truly hopeful.
Later on that evening, I pray to God in a way I’ve never done before, as easily as a friend I’m having a chat with. I sense He’s not far away at all, but close enough to hear me whisper and a vivid picture comes to my mind - a man with a little girl, their backs to me heading down a tree-covered path. The man is Jesus, the little girl is me. He holds out His hand, I hesitate. ‘I don’t know where we’re going’ I say, ‘and truthfully, I’m kind of scared, I don’t know what this means for my life, but… I trust you.’ I take a deep breath, place my hand in His and we walk forwards into the future.
***
