Till Death Do Us Part . . .

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Demon from hell, I don’t like you.

You make me sick.

You’ve robbed my strength.

My eyesight.

My hearing.

You’ve knocked out my teeth.

You pulled out my red hair and planted a cotton field.

With your slimy, drooling lips you’ve sucked my skin dry and turned it into a shriveled prune.

Piece by piece you chip away my brain, making me confused. Making me forget stuff.

And what did you do to my hands? I can’t even open my prescription bottles! And they hurt like hell.

And my legs! Look at them!!! You stuffed them full of lumpy dough boys and made them turn to rubber. They can barely lift me up a flight of stairs. They used to be my best friends. Now, we can’t stand the sight of each other.

My mother warned me about you. But I didn’t listen. I thought I could out-run you. Out smart you.

But, here you are, demon from hell, laughing and sneering in my face. Just like you did my mother’s and my dad’s and every person you finally killed.

Well, hear this, demon from hell. You can destroy my mind. You can ravage my body. But you can’t touch my soul! It belongs to Jesus. Remember Him? The One you thought you killed on the cross? The One who rose from the dead? The One who smashed your head to smithereens?

Yeah. Him.

So when you’re done playing around with me and thrust your bloody sword deep into my heart, don’t stand laughing beside my grave because my life in heaven has only just begun.

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. John 3:16

 

 

 

Author: Sandi Staton

So, I'm sitting here trying to figure out how to describe myself to you, and these are the words jumping up and down in my heart: I'm just a simple human being living in a complicated, messed-up world. I speak my mind. I love hard. My feelings run deep. When push comes to shove, I stand my ground. Sometimes I push back. Sometimes I walk away. I've surfed the crashing waves of life that threatened to destroy me only to make me stronger. I bear the scars of emotional rape, sadness, and depression. I've walked the golden streets of churches and religion only to be disappointed time and time again. And as a result, it's taken me seventy-five years to get where I'm sitting today; a sinner saved by grace through the blood of Jesus Christ. I fell at the cross. I repented of my sins, and Jesus saved and washed me clean. I still fall flat on my face. I still get dirty as a pig in a mudhole. And Jesus still picks me up, dries my tears, forgives me again and again, and continues walking close beside me. No one has ever loved me like that. And no one ever will.

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