The Called Out Ones

I knelt in my room in the dark, wanting to die.  I didn't or couldn't or wouldn't kill myself.  But I wanted to die.  To go to sleep and not wake up.  Or something like that.  But worse than that.  I felt condemned to death because of what I had done.  Most wouldn't think it was that bad, nowhere near bad enough to be condemned to death.  But to me, it was the worst thing I could do.  The one thing I never wanted to do.  And the thing is, I didn't know if I had even really done it at all.  I didn't know what it was, or how it was supposed to feel.  I think I had gotten close, but how close is close enough to be it?  That doesn't matter.  Even being close made me feel like dying.

But for some reason, I said what I think I'd hear in Sunday school without realizing I remembered it.

"I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and that He died for my sins."  I felt peace cover me like a blanket, and I no longer wanted to die.  Then I remembered what happened before I came close to doing the thing that made me want to die in the first place.

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