Jesus, I Come

Jesus said, "Follow me." And I did. He took me down a narrow path with many sticks and stones scattered along the way. As I stepped along behind Him, I started slowing down and staring at the thorns, holes, rocks, sticks, traps and snares that were to my right, to my left, behind me above me, in front of me, and as I kept looking, my eyes grew wider and I cried out, "Jesus, You didn't tell me that this is what I was going to run into."
"Don't worry child, I will take care of you, follow Me."
So I did. For a while but then I began tripping up on the sticks and stones and I screamed,
"Did You just forget to tell me that You'd rip away my friends?
Did You forget to tell me that I'd often get confused?
Did You forget to tell me about the pressure, temptations and failure I would face?
How could You not tell me all of this?"
So there I stood and glared. Then I took a seat on the ground next to a nasty snare and just stared at the snare.

And as I looked at this ugly snare, it started to look more and more appealing and lovely. It's deadly, sharp thorns turned into gorgeous diamonds, it's steel, unbreakable trap turned into a picture of life lived my way instead of God's. All of its parts began transforming into lovely things that I thought I would never lay eyes on again. My heart began to pound. I wanted to grasp it so badly, but I knew Jesus was giving me that "Look" of "Don't do it. You will hurt yourself so badly that it will take an eternity to heal you." I ignored Him and grabbed the "pretty" snare as He called out, "Child, I am here. Drop it and follow Me!"

Darkness engulfed me. No light was to be seen. My life became full of everything painful, wicked and destructive.

Anger. Rebellion. Hatred. Bitterness. Lies. Jealousy. Lust. Pride.

That beautiful snare turned out to be not so beautiful. As I ran as far from God as I could possibly get, I started hurting. I began having "fun" with my friends, but the emptiness inside wouldn't leave. My Bibles grew dusty, my heart turned into black ice. My sould kept screaming in pain as the Devil's deceptive snare of sin wrapped it's spiked tentacles around me and began choking me. But Jesus' still, small voice in the back of my befuddled brain kept whispering, "Hurting child, why? Why did you run from Me, your only hope? Why are you denying me? Child, follow me!" But I didn't.

It took almost a year for my stubborn, rebellious hurt to return to it's loving Master. A year of the worst spiritual and mental battles I've ever been through and never, ever want to witness again. Jesus used a wonderful, friend during a summer camp to lead me back to the Rock that is higher than I.

God is still keeping me there, up on that rock, but occasionally I find myself sticking a foot over the edge of the rock and thinking about climbing down again. Then I hear my Jesus sweetly say,
"Child, don't do it. Follow me!"