This week, 25 years ago I encountered El Roi. The God who saw me. See I was in an ICU ward, with bacterial meningitis, septicaemia and brain damage while recovering from a stroke and taking epileptic fits at just five months old.
It was a brush with death as some might call it.
Or, as we would come to learn, the breeding ground for the miraculous.
After much prayer, from ministers and monks all over the country. I began to stabilise, the doctors would conduct an MRI scan to find the damage they were looking for was no longer there, a second scan would prove the point – they had just witnessed a miracle.
25 years later, I took the plunge and professed Christ Jesus as not only Saviour, but as Lord of my life. He’s the boss, the one who gets the final say. Not me.
And while I might look terribly silly. The joy and peace I have could send you into fits of giggles or songs of praise in a single breath. It’s overwhelming, it’s all consuming – He is worth it all.
So while I had a brush with death 25 years ago, this week I died to myself, and now I am being resurrected into new life.
Glory be to the Father,
and to the Son,
and to the Holy Spirit.
As it was in the beginning,
is now, and ever shall be,
world without end,
Amen.