Jesus? Jesus.

Before you write this post off as a religious rant, please hear me out… It’s not. It’s not my intention to change anyone’s mind. Honestly, I’m not interested, nor equipped for that kind of debate.

This is my story. This is how I’ve survived. Take it or leave it.

I’ve never NOT had Jesus in my heart. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a believer.

For most of my life, I was just piggybacking on the faith that my mom so consistently mirrored for me. I had no idea the impact that her relentless love for Jesus would have on my future self. At the time, I didn’t care. She faithfully took my brother, my sister and myself to church every Sunday. We didn’t have a choice, and at the time, I hated it. Getting up early on a day that I didn’t have school was not at all my idea of a good time. My mom was having none of my shit. She gave zero fucks and marched our asses there despite our protests and crap attitudes.

For the sake of full transparency, I can tell you that for a lot of my adult life, I didn’t care much either. I prayed, and went to church. I did my ‘due diligence.’ I went through all of the motions, but never felt like Jesus was anything more to me than an idea. A concept I was taught, but never grasped. I believed in the idea, but I had no reason or desire to search for anything beyond that.

On September 2, 2018, all of that changed.

I wish I could tell you that it changed because my faith in Jesus was so steadfast and strong. It wasn’t.

Watching a strong and otherwise healthy man collapse and fall to his knees… dying. Trying like hell to save him. Watching the paramedics try to save him. Listening to the life flight helicopter take off and praying like hell that where they were taking him, would save him. Watching my kids absorb the impact like fucking soldiers so they could be strong for their mom.

It was hell. I was desperate, and out of desperation I found MY Jesus.

In my hell, I found my Jesus.

For no other reason other than, I didn’t have anywhere else to turn. Nothing was in my control and I needed to believe in something. SOMEONE. Anything to make what I was going through bearable.

Justin lived for 10 days after that night. He never woke up. He died on September 13th, 2018.

I have more questions than I do answers. It’s been a really hard road to navigate, but I can tell you this: Jesus did not save Justin that night, but He did save ME.

Thanks Mom ❤️

Until next time,

~A