My apologies. I have been away for a week and a half, and didn't remember what a cliffhanger I'd left this on! Forging onward:
For three endless days, He lay dead. With Him, I lay dead, too.
Then His Father called Him, and to the singing and shouting of angels, He stood again, a long scar the only sign of His ordeal, and put His own perfect heart in my chest.
Tears pouring, I decided to try His medicine. My voice shook, but I sang. And I learned it was true - the pain did not go away, but it became bearable.
"My heart is steadfast, oh, Lord," I wept. "Before the nations, I will sing. Awake my spirit, awake my spirit. I will awake at dawn of day." I could hear angels around the table singing with me, and whispering encouragement.
Stitch by careful stitch, Jesus began to connect His heart to my arteries. Sometimes I forgot to sing. "Oh, Lord, how long?" I wailed. "Can't You go faster?"
"No, My dear one. I won't risk one wrong stitch in you. Sing!"
I shut my eyes and sang. The tears didn't stop. But now I knew I had something to sing about. "Forgive me," I whispered. He smiled gently. And kept stitching. It seemed to last for years. Sometimes I faded in and out of consciousness again.
Finally I awoke and found myself in the recovery room. Disoriented, I tried to look around, but I couldn't see very well, and tubes seemed to sprout from me like weeds in a neglected garden.
To be continued. . .
Repairing the Breach,
Debbonnaire
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