Jesus and I
There are so many people telling you their story about how Jesus changed their lives. And it’s not a simple formula nor is it the same for everyone. We are all loved by our Creator. We are all on our journey through our lives. We all carry our history and experiences with us. We all need a Saviour.
“If this is all there is, then what’s the point?”
That describes how I felt about life as a young adult. My life lacked purpose and fulfillment. I just existed.
God has done so many great things in my life. He has helped me through tough times and answered so many prayers – even the small everyday things. At times when I have been greatly stressed I learnt to give all my worry over to him and as a result felt complete peace and joy in the midst of all that was going on – and that is simply incredible!
So, I was lying face down on my bed. It was about 4am, one night in my first year at university and I was feeling absolutely exhausted, but my heart was still pumping with the caffeine from red bull & pro plus.
Two weeks after the funeral I returned to The University for my second year. It wasn’t the same; I missed my dad. I spent my days feeling sad and then trying not to feel sad. Mostly I attempted this by drinking, comfort eating, skipping lectures and finding comfort in different relationships.
Dead. I wanted to be dead. I wanted Death’s arms to envelope me and take me from this life: a life full of pain, abuse, abandonment, disappointment, hatred; I didn’t want it anymore. Oh, sweet surrender! Come Death, come!
I used to go to church on my own regularly until my adolescence. But I felt alone in that church which was almost empty.I did not talk to anyone… And, when I was a young student, I discovered news things, not very beautiful ones, such as pornography…
At the age of 24 I had given up my life. The strong anti-depressants which I was taking since many years because of depression and anxiety, made out of me an empty shell of blood and flesh. As my trials to take my life stranded, I decided to go to Exit (an institution for euthanasia).
Then, my uncle’s phone rang. The news fell down. His brother, and that means my father, has just died on his working place. I remember the first thing I said after I realized I would never see him again : “I’ve never told him I love him”. I was destroyed by a feeling of guiltiness.
Something was missing. Life wasn’t perfect. I wasn’t perfect. For every “nice Steve day” I had two “grumpy Steve days.” I hated imperfection. I began to hate myself. Though I never considered suicide or anything to that extreme, I still felt a deep longing for more. I wanted to know how to live, but people’s answers weren’t sufficient.