Page 32 of Hide My Heart
I mutter and pray, not even sure if I’m still inside my body, or if my soul is encased in a cocoon of ice, waiting for my Saviour. My blessed Saviour who promises to forgive all who come to him, begging and pleading His name, believing God through faith.
Somehow, my father’s voice is no longer thunderous. He’s not preaching sin and wickedness. He’s no longer shouting about flaming fire and casting souls into hell.
He’s whispering love, in a still, small voice. He’s taking my hand and walking with me in the valley of the shadow of death. He’s leading me by green pastures, beside still waters, and he speaks to me.
His voice is merciful and his words are like honey on my lips. He tells me he loves me, that I’m his sheep and I hear his voice and I follow him.
I drift and drift with Him, joyous, because I’m no longer walking. I’m floating in His arms and I see His nail-scarred hands. I know He’s my Saviour. My Jesus. My Christ.
Dear God in Heaven. I’m but a worthless sinner.
You are my princess. Joint heirs with Christ. You inherit eternal life.
But dear God. I’m grateful. Believe me, I am. But can I make one small request? Can I go back to the pain and the sorrow? To the shadow world of sin and regret? I need to be there for Beck. For my baby boy. I need to see Grandma and I need to say I’m sorry to everyone I wronged. My parents, my brothers, and even Hunter. Did he die and go to Hell? Lord, is his death a blot on my soul?
The warmth is gone, and the Lord doesn’t answer. Cold spikes impale my heart, and pain rages like fire curling my skin off my fingertips and peeling it back the way Hunter skins a wolf.
My fingernails pop back, and the pads of my palms are separated from the skin. Then the fire slices the hide off my arms, slitting the skin on the inside and tearing it from my muscles.
I cry out as the knife cuts around my lips, separating my gums and teeth from the fur of my snout. My nose is cut, and my skin peeled back to my eyes.
Screaming for mercy, the tip of pain and agony trace my eyes, separating my eyelids and lashes from my eyeballs. The peeling is excruciating as the trail of fire blazes over my scalp and the hot knife slices the cartilage holding my upright ears.
They want it all. My paws, my claws, my lips and nose, my ears, undressing me, slowly, precisely. Pain becomes a raging wildfire scorching down my back, my belly, my gut, until it slices between my legs and into my bushy tail. The big, black tail I’m so freaking proud of.
The monster of hell leaves me naked, bloody, wounded, and broken, my carcass barren and blind, my tail as thin as a rat’s, crumbled and stiff.
All is black. Dark is Hell. The only sensation burning pain. Silence. I cannot hear my screams. And oh, I’m falling, falling, falling, compressed into a dark, black hole, forever falling and screaming, a blot of pure, compacted pain.
No one listens in Hell.
No one answers.
I shudder and shake, vibrating in only one mode: the dark, black fire of a million knives, forever and ever. An eternity.
You lied, God!I scream.You said if I put my faith and trust in the Lord Jesus, I will be forgiven.Was I too late? Had I already died? Crossed the line of no return? Did I miss death by a millionth of a second?But Lord, you should have known my heart. You should have known that I would repent.
You should have known that I’m the prodigal daughter. You should have given me one last breath to praise you. You should have given me one more chance!
I weep balls of fire, lava rocks torture me, goring me with fire inside and out. I wail and I gnash my teeth. I shake my head like a rat terrier flinging a dirty, nasty rodent. I cry and flail. Burning. Burning. Burning.
“Amber, Amber, can you hear me? I’m here. You’re going to be okay, Amber. You’re safe with me.”
God finally answers.
I’m here, Lord. Give me a miracle, Lord. I repent. I believe. I trust, and I hope. All in You. I take the gift of Your Son’s death, burial, and resurrection. Wash me clean with the blood of Christ. Sing the wondrous love of Jesus, Sing His mercy and His grace. To God be the glory, great things He hath done, So loved He the world that He gave us His Son. Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.
“Amber. We need to get you warmed up. You’re too cold.”
The Lord pinches my face and wraps me in his arms. He holds me tight and lifts me. I slip under a soft and fluffy cloud. My skin is pierced by a million sewing machine needles, up and down, up and down, plowing over me.
But it’s soft and warm and I let myself go, trusting that the Lord will be the balm of my soul and He will wipe away all my tears.
* * *
I wake up naked, with a mouth tugging at my nipple, to the sound of swallowing and cooing. My baby is cradled at my side, and I run my fingers through his scant downy hair.
We’re cocooned in a fluffy goose-down comforter, and my entire body is stiff and achy, but also warm and cozy at the same time. I try not to ask how I ended up with not a stitch of clothing on, but I know.
