He's Alive!

A/N: Just like before, this character is just a made-up character who is there for the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus.

The previous story depicted what I think might have been going through the minds of some of Jesus' followers. Fear and perhaps a little doubt. This story depicts the miracle of the resurrection.

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He's Alive!

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      I couldn't believe it when I heard. The stone has been rolled away from the tomb!

      Some are saying Jesus' followers have taken the body, but I find that hard to believe. There were soldiers standing guard, how could they have possibly stolen Him away?

      I have heard whispers and rumors among fellow believers that He has been seen. That He is no longer dead, but walking around and teaching again. From what I have heard, it was some women who discovered that the stone had been rolled away. The women certainly could not have stolen Him away, it would have taken a group of men to move that stone.

      Three days ago, when I saw Him die on the cross, I allowed doubt to fill my mind. Momentary thoughts that perhaps His words weren't true after all. I couldn't understand how everlasting life could be offered by someone who was able to die. That very same day, I was inspired to taken a different opinion. As long as we let Him live in us, it did not matter that His body was not here. His Spirit would always be here.

     Now, perhaps, I realize there is even more to it than that, if He is alive again, if He truly has conquered death. After all the miracles He performed before, I choose to believe that He most definitely can be resurrected. Only three days ago, I allowed myself to doubt the words He had spoken in His teaching. After realizing I was wrong to doubt, I know I will never make that mistake again. I do not doubt that another miracle has happened.

     The tomb is empty, that is for certain. Some have claimed to see Him walking around. I want to see Him, too. No, I do not need to see Him to believe that it's true. I just want to hear Him speak again. His teaching was like no one had ever taught before. There is much truth to His words, and I would like to hear them again.

     When the time is right, I know He will show Himself. He will not keep it a secret.

     When that time comes, I will be ready.

He Lives In Us

A/N: Well, I've never attempted any Bible fiction. I guess I've always been worried that it would come across as blasphemous. Good Friday has been on my mind this year more than ever before. When we read the Bible, we read of Jesus' death, and then the very next chapter tells us how He rose from the dead. I've always read it through from one event to the next and never really thought about the in-between. Even His own disciples were not expecting Him to rise from the dead, so in those couple of days after His death but before the resurrection, I can imagine a lot of His followers feeling lost and depressed. The Bible tells us the disciples were hidden away because they were afraid. They were the ones closest to Jesus, and if they were afraid, I can imagine many of the people who followed Him wouldn't have wanted to try to continue His work, either.

But anyway, the character in this story is just a made-up character, just one of the many people who had heard Jesus' teachings and had come to believe in Him.

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     It's hard to explain the emptiness I feel. I had heard of Him, of the things He taught, and could not wait for my own opportunity to see Him and hear Him speak. People said His words were like nothing they had ever heard. I only had the chance to hear Him once, but the things He said were amazing.

     Jesus said He had been sent by God to save the world from death. He said if we believed in Him, then we would have life forever. He told stories about how we are supposed to live, attitudes we are supposed to have that are pleasing to God. Attitudes such as being kind and showing love to everyone, even to those who we may not think deserve it. Attitudes such as always forgiving others when they do wrong by us.

     I wondered, at first, if He was a prophet. I had heard rumors about it, but there seemed to be differences of opinion. He claimed to be the Son of God, and while many doubted, there were also many that believed.

     I believed Him. With the words that He spoke and the miracles He performed, how could I not believe? Truly, there was something very special and very unique about this man.

     The ones who doubted Him were always asking Him questions and accusing Him of doing wrong. He only made them angrier by turning things around and answering their questions with questions of His own. It became so bad, they conspired to get rid of Him, to put Him to death.

     They did it. They've killed Him, and many are afraid. People like myself, who believed in Him and the words He spoke, and the promises He made, we are lost. I know I am confused. I saw what they did to Him, and while I have seen them put many criminals to death, this execution was different.

     It seemed as if there was a malice behind it, as if the devil himself was rejoicing because of it, because of all the pain they inflicted upon Him. The beat Him and scourged Him so terribly, He did not even look like a man anymore. And if that wasn't enough, they mocked Him, and then finally, they crucified Him. Because of the terrible beating they had given Him, He did not last very long on the cross. When I saw His head drop as He took His last breath, I was filled with an emptiness.

     At that moment, I wondered how someone who promised everlasting life couldn't even escape His own death. I was filled with confusion. Had I been deceived? Had I wrongly placed my belief in Him?

     Hours later, I watched as they took Him down from the cross with such care. Later, I heard talk of how they had prepared His body for burial. A burial! Many of the criminals that were crucified were just tossed into a pit, they didn't get a burial. But apparently a man named Joseph had come and offered the tomb that was intended to be his own someday. He just gave it away to this man who claimed to be the Son of God.

     At that moment, my faith was confirmed again. There were other people who had believed in the words He had said, and they hadn't given up hope. To me, Joseph represented other followers who would not let any doubts work their way through their minds, as I had begun to do. He would not have offered his tomb to just any crucified criminal, he would have only done it for the man called Jesus Christ. He would have only done it if he truly believed that Jesus was the Son of God. And I still believed it, too.

     I know now, that just because they killed Him, He is still alive through everything He taught. If we live by that, if we still believe in the words He spoke, if we try to be the kind of person that He was, those ideals will always remain alive in us.

     It still seemed as if something had changed, though. Now that Jesus was gone, what were we supposed to do? I've heard rumors that His disciples are going into hiding because of what happened. They fear the same fate. Other followers, like myself, who still believe in the words He spoke, should be trying to encourage the others who have lost faith, letting them know that there is still faith to be had. However, they are all afraid, too.

     When Jesus spoke, He was not afraid to say what needed to be said, but now He is gone, and His followers are silent and afraid.

     So who will continue to speak for Him?

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To be continued... on Easter Sunday...

My Angel

A/N: This story came to me while I was reading a research paper on some of the effects of abortion. This is a strong topic, I know. Please keep in mind that this story is purely a work of fiction. It was written because I personally don't believe in abortion

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They say there are angels among us; angels that watch over and protect us. Those who have passed on from this life; and those who have always been angelic, never to know how it feels to live a mortal life. They are selfless, always protecting. Their number one goal is to keep bad things from happening to us.

What happens when the angels are helpless? When there is absolutely nothing they can do to keep a life from ending?

My life seems so empty to me. It amazes me how one life, so small, could leave such a void in my heart. This particular life I speak of, I never even knew. That would be my baby.

I miss all the late night feedings, singing lullabies, counting those tiny fingers and toes. I miss hearing the gibberish that is otherwise known as 'baby talk.' And I miss seeing the exuberant life in that child's eyes.

I miss everything about being a mother, and yet I never was one. I was never able to experience even one of those motherly joys. All because I let my boyfriend talk me into having an abortion.

"We went too far," he had said to me. "We said we wouldn't, but we did. You know what our families will say-now we only have the one choice."

To this very day, I resent him so deeply for all he said. But I was scared, so I listened to him. I went through with it. I had my baby killed. I really didn't think of it that way; I was only seeking the solution to my problem. No, it wasn't until it was too late that I realized what I had done. I couldn't see it, but my baby had still been a living being. And I had killed it.

Anger and sorrow overtook me, and I couldn't bear to even look at my boyfriend. So I left him. Because of what he did and how he acted, I don't feel bad about that decision. Why couldn't he have just dealt with the problem and tried to be a good father? Or he could have left me to deal with it alone. But I don't know how I would have dealt with it had he not been there. Would I have done the same thing anyway?

Everywhere I go I see mothers with their children. I can't help it, but I'm envious of them. I want my child back. I want to reverse every decision I made concerning that matter. But I can't. That's the funny thing about life, about abortion. There is no second chance. The hurt and emptiness inside me is so overwhelming. There are some days I simply don't want to get out of bed, knowing that I won't hear any little giggles, or there won't be any toothless grins awaiting me as I enter the baby's room.

There's nothing, simply nothing. No expectations of the future for that child. No hoping he or she would win at the school science fair. There will be no chance of my child being on the cheerleading squad, or basketball team. No noisy sleepovers; and no rowdy friends who've come over just to hang out.

Why did I have to do it?

What if that child had someday been able to invent a cure for a disease? Or even simply save someone's life-one life, it would have made a difference to someone. Anything at all, no life is useless; he or she would have had a purpose, a reason to live.

Why did I feel the need to end that child's life before it even began?

I have such a longing to hold that baby in my arms. As I suppose any mother would if her baby had died. But I feel even worse because the reason that baby died is my fault. I signed the papers consenting that it was okay. I gave the doctor permission. Only one person is responsible, and that person is myself.

I try to find strength through prayer, but I don't understand how He could still love me after what I've done. I'm so ashamed. I know He does love me, but how can I have peace with that when I don't even love myself? I hate myself for what I've done. I know I shouldn't, because everyone makes mistakes—albeit this was a very big mistake—and Jesus loves me anyway.

Forgiveness is the key, right? That's what I've always been taught while growing up. God will always forgive you, but you can't feel it, you won't be able to let it in until you forgive yourself. I know He has forgiven me. But before peace comes is the hard part; forgiving myself. That's something I just can't do; the pain is too strong. However, I put up a front for all who see me. They all think I'm doing fine. Well, those who knew about it. Anyone else would think nothing happened, I try so hard not to break down and show my emotions to my friends and family. But since I've also been taught that through God, all things are possible, I think I'll give the forgiveness thing a try.

I stood out on the veranda and slowly knelt. I could feel the tears coming. And then, for the very first time since this all happened, I said a prayer. Not just a quick prayer, but a heartfelt, 'God, I need your help,' prayer. I begged and pleaded for the forgiveness, even though I knew it was already freely given. Then I asked Him to help me through the emptiness, and the pain and hurt.

With His help I know I'll be alright. It will take me a while though; I don't expect an overnight miracle. I loved that baby, even if I didn't think about everything until it was too late. And love can hurt when torn away, or in this case when thrown away. But God will help me to fill the void. Through time, and of course, faith and prayer, life will have meaning again. Actually, it already has regained it's meaning, simply because I've put God back into it. Now I have to work at rebuilding. So I can truly be happy, and not just as a front.

I'm still ashamed of what I've done, though. We have angels to protect us. And sometimes God even makes those angels real for us. Such as the precious angels He gives us. Those angels are sent to us for love. I am so sorry. I didn't accept my angel. I returned it to Heaven.

Tears still find their way into my eyes, but they no longer hold quite so much anguish. There was one last thing I felt I must say.

"I'm so sorry for giving back to You, my little angel."

A Peaceful Sunset

Bright colors spread over the sky - a brilliant mix of yellow, pink, red, orange . . . all of the colors involved in a beautiful sunset. You may try to see it in your mind, though words could never describe how perfect it is. For me, it is also peaceful.

As I sit out on the balcony, simply watching the sunset, I am also trying to realize the truth to what has been going on in my life. I am sick. I have cancer. The doctor's have tried to treat it, but they did not succeed. It is spreading through me, and I have been told that I have not much longer to live.

Every day I wonder why. Why did something like this happen to me? I am young, only twenty-two . . . I have not had a chance to really do anything with my life. I had to drop out of college, as I could not keep up with my classes. Also, my medical bills were too much to handle . . . I could not afford both - good health and further education. It seems now, I have neither.

My family suffers, as well. We have always been a close family, and I know this is hard on them. I try to keep a positive attitude for my younger siblings, at least, but they know I am sad about it, too. Why should I hide my feelings? After all, they already know how much I cry over it. But I know, they pretend, too. The put on a positive attitude for me, as well. Perhaps, with all of us acting this way, that is one of the reasons no one has really gotten upset. I help them to stay strong, just as they help me.

Would that be considered as hiding? Trying to push away the reality of our situation? Certainly it will have to be faced, eventually. But how could we face something so tragic? I will be gone soon . . . what will they do? They won't be able to avoid it when it happens. I don't want to hurt them - don't want them to cry.

I know I will not be hurting. I will be in Heaven, with Jesus. But again, that brings me back to my original question . . . why? We are created for a purpose, aren't we? Yet if I haven't done anything, why would God take me from Earth now? Wouldn't He rather wait until I have done something?

Or . . . perhaps I already have done something. Maybe I already have made an impression on somebody's life. Maybe someone has learned about Jesus - because of me. I can't help but smile as the thought occurs to me. I will never know for sure, though. Not until I get to Heaven . . . then I can ask Jesus. I am sure He will tell me.

The sun sinks lower behind the tree tops. The color is spreading further and further over the sky, engulfing it all in such beauty. I am happy to know Jesus, He is such a wonderful creator. Whether I have helped someone or not, I know He has a reason for bringing me Home.

I wonder if this is the last sunset I'll see, or perhaps I will live to see a few more. However, I feel such a sense of peace, it would not matter if this were the last I ever saw. Tonight, I have had a time of reflection . . . struggle . . . and now, understanding. I wonder if my family has taken time to consider it all. Even if they haven't, I want to let them know that I have.

I struggle back inside, and over to my desk. Taking out a piece of paper I scribble a short message. Please do not cry. Be happy and know that I am Home. That seems simple enough . . . and it certainly communicates my point. As I slip it into my pocket, I begin to feel foolish. After all, what if tonight is not my last? Well, then, I will just tell them tomorrow . . . about all my thoughts and my confidence that it will all be okay.

I go back out to my previous position on the balcony. After all, a sunset such as this cannot be missed. As the sky turns to a dull red, I know the sun is almost gone. I feel my strength leaving me, and I realize that this is, indeed, the last I'll ever see. I am thankful God allowed the sun to put on such a beautiful show tonight.

Just before the last red rays sank below the trees, I felt a much stronger feeling of peace. Stronger than I had felt since I first started feeling it. I looked up to the sky, and with my last breath, whispered,

'Yes, Lord, I am ready to meet you.'