Quietly He would ask, "Have you been taking your medicine? Are you eating and drinking properly and doing your breathing exercises?"
I would have to hang my head and admit that I was not. So together, we would start again. It even happened that I had to go back to the hospital for some reconstructive surgery or special therapy. Then Jesus would ask again. "Will you go back with Me?"
But I couldn't. I just couldn't even think abut that horrible pit of darkness and fear, let alone go back there! Yet I didn't want to disobey. "I'll think about it," I would tell Him.
"Then come on some shorter journeys with Me," He invited.
So I did. I found out what incredible joy it is to tell others about the new heart Jesus offers, and to let them feel my pulse, and watch me walk and run. If they said anything like "You're so good at that!" I would hastily say, "Oh, no, it's all Jesus! He did surgery on me, and gave me a new heart. You should have seen how faint and weak I used to be! Even now, if I don't take my medicine, I start getting sick and dizzy."
If I had to , to make them believe me, I would pull back just the edge of the collar of my robe and show them part of my scar. But I never showed anyone the whole ugly thing.
It was starting to bother me more and more. How could I refuse Him anything, the one Person who had been willing to give up His life for me? When I caught a glimpse of His face, through the love there shone a little wistfulness, and it made me so sad, I found myself looking at His face less often.
Then I was really miserable.
To be continued. . .
Repairing the Breach,
Debbonnaire
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