THE MORNING AFTER

I opened my eyes very slowly, fighting the last cobwebs of sleep. I was somewhere between dreamland and real life and I was not quite sure which was winning. I knew I had been plagued with bad dreams all night and a deep sense of foreboding was slowly pushing the last vestiges of sleep away. At first I struggled to understand why I was feeling so heavy so early in the morning. Then suddenly it hit me! It was not just a bad dream, it had actually happened! The sham of a trial, the beatings, the humiliation and the most horrible of it all, the crucifixion! it had all happened. My LORD was no more! The pain came rushing back and I threw the covers away and rushed into the toilet to vomit violently. I could not believe though I know it is true, after all I was there and I had witnessed it myself. I crawled out of the toilet on hands and feet, shaking violently all over. He had been crucified and I could not bring myself to face the pain that was coursing through my veins. It seemed like my very blood had turned into some kind of transmitting fluid for misery. My  Lord was dead. The only man that has ever looked at me like a human being. The only man that saw me as a woman and not a toy or a piece of thrash. The only person who made me feel a sense of self-worth. He was gone! Killed by a system that saw nothing good in anyone but themselves. For three years they had battled the teacher and his message. They preferred to attack than change their ways. The truths he taught were too painful to listen to. At first I had listened to the lies they told about him as they drank and ate at the inn where I had been nothing better than a sex slave. But I knew these men; they were no good, hypocrites one and all. I  used to be amused at first and then scandalised at how they said one thing in public and practised something else in private. Their private deeds were very often worse than those of the so-called sinners they took so much pleasure in condemning. When I first heard of the Messiah I thought he couldn’t be any different from all the other religious men who frequently came to me in the guise of night to do things I feel ashamed to even recall. But how wrong I was! He was as different as night and day. He showed me clean pure and holy love, I did not even know such love existed. Until I met him I used to think that the whole idea of a holy God was nothing but a scam by the religious leaders but this man showed me God for he was God himself. Or was he?
Last night I watched him die like a common criminal and this morning I hardly know what to think. Can God die? Could it be that everything he said was a lie? If he truly was the son of God like he said would he be lying in  that tomb?
More important to me right now is the question I’ve been avoiding since I opened my eyes; what now? What do I do and where shall I go? To whom can I turn? My old life holds no attraction for me anymore and the new life I found in him is so fresh I do not know how to sustain it on my own without guidance.
How could he die? But wait a minute! Didn’t he always say he would be killed? And would rise again? I felt a flicker of hope stirring up in my heart, a glimmer of light ignited somewhere in my Soul! He said it, yes he did, he said he would be killed by these people and would be buried and would rise again after three days! He did not lie after all! He will rise again. I must believe what he said about his death as much as I believe what  he told me about my life. He is not a liar, he will rise again. I hurriedly got up and started cleaning myself up. I must go to

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Mary, I must go to Joanna, we must prepare, he is not dead after all. We must be ready for he will rise again. God cannot die…

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Author: elsiewrite

Wife. Mom. Writer. Worshiper of God. Certified Public Speaker. I love to laugh and like to learn. I enjoy a holiday when I can get one. If I could not write, wonder what I'd do?

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