When I saw the blood flow down the medical tube and into the needle in my arm I stopped worrying about my health and thought about the events leading up to the accident. I thought about how God had used me, and how happy I was by this. This near death experience started our relationship, and I believe that everybody should have a chance to know they are loved by the person they believe in.
It was early summer in Buena Vista, Colorado. The Fortbend Younglife group was on its annual summer trip that helped many young Christians find their way with Christ. On the bus ride up to the resort I thought about “do I really love Him?” “Do I live up to his standards?” “Do I follow the life that he wants me to?” The most important question that kept running through my mind is “how much does he love me?” While thinking all of these questions to myself, I went along with the trip as everyone else did. I ate at all of the same places as the other kids, but for some reason my health would turn for the worst in the middle of our trip.
We had “club” every night where we would sing and rejoice our love for God. The main speaker would talk to us about how much God wants a relationship with us, and this made me happy that my questions were being answered. All was going wonderfully; I was being answered, increasing both my faith and knowledge in God, and most importantly feeling loved by more people than ever before. All my recent problems were shattered by this newly found joy. This was until the illness came.
Towards the fourth day of my trip I started to feel weaker than normal. All of my fellow campers were noticing how my skin was beginning to turn pale. We were playing Frisbee golf when out of no where my stomach felt like I was being stabbed, and the stabbing never quit. I told my leader to take me to the cabin, where I stayed for the rest of the day. That night I had the sudden urge to use the restroom where I was in for a major surprise. My stool was dark as night with red liquid.
I informed my leader and nurse of what happened. They decided that whatever it could have been might have passed through my system. Two hours later I found out that they were wrong. The next morning I was white as paper and feeling worse than I looked. The camp has a tradition where all of the camp hikes up a mountain. This hike was to get you the closest you could be to God. After the first 150 yards I collapsed into the mountainside. Two of my fellow campers picked me up and attempted to assist me up the mountain. My body was only capable to walk 45 to 50 yards even with help. We finally got half way and the nurse decided I should stay at the rest stop.
As I laid there by the snow watching the whole camp walk up the mountain, I wondered to myself, “Does God not want me to be close to him like he wants them?” I thought about this for 50 minutes straight until I passed out on the ground. When I awoke the camp was back from the top, all of them talking about how special it was up there. When we were talking in our cabin, our leader talked about how there is always something blocking our way to God, a void. He then used the example of my illness being the void that kept me from reaching up to God on the mountaintop. Once he said this it clicked in my head that God used me to help others understand my leader’s teachings. To me, being used by God was a blessing not an insult. That night I was feeling happy until I had another attack in my stomach. This one was unbearable and I was finally sent to the hospital.
All the way to the hospital I endured frantic phone calls from family members. I told them all the same thing, “I’ll be ok. I love you.” I knew this was true because I put my faith in Him. After all the tests were complete the doctors informed me that I should be dead. I had lost two-thirds of my blood and needed a blood transfusion immediately. They did all the necessary procedures and brought me up to stable levels. The whole time I laid awake smiling because I knew God loved me.
I believe that all people should have an event that shows that the God they worship loves them. I am lucky enough to be alive to cherish this event. It will always be in my mind when I start to question my faith. Does not everyone deserve the feeling of being loved?
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