Splattering, splashing. Frantically I waved both hands in a
desperate move to be saved. No one seemed to notice.
They all went on with their lives as if my life meant nothing.
I got pulled in again, these tides aren't joking!
I didn't picture my end of life like this! It was supposed
to be romantic - hand in hand with hubby at 120 years old...
That seems so far fetched now. The waves were pulling me down,
the weight far from bearable.
I searched for a life coach - none in sight, a righteous
looking fellow (
Jesus behaviour won't let me drown) - fellow
too busy chatting away.
Just as I began to black out, memories of my childhood
flashing through my mind; I felt a lifting.
Like I had a number of hands working together to save me.
Maybe this was after life... the Angels had come for me.
Although I had imagined it a bit different, I stopped
struggling. For once, I let go.
The hands seemed to guide me, I let them... There was
something about this transition, it felt warm against
my cold body, the hands were kind.
I felt the urge to breathe.
Mustering the strength, I took a deep breath - it was fresh,
like I had never taken in air. It was refreshing to my soul,
it renewed my strength and gave me life. For the first time
in a while, I felt free, I felt strong, I felt joy, I felt
These hands are the physical representation of God in
my life. The people He placed around me to bring me back up
whenever life threatens to drown me.