MY SOUL IS IN ANGUISH

HOW LONG, O LORD, HOW LONG?

TURN, O LORD, AND DELIVER ME

SAVE ME BECAUSE OF YOUR UNFAILING LOVE

Psalm 6:3–4

──

Every rational being, since time immemorial, has gone beyond every borders of the mind trying to search for the very purpose of human existence.

Perhaps, one’s conquest isn’t vast enough yet compare to the other, but that doesn’t stop us from embarking the journey through discovering the majesty behind the seed that sprang a diversity of persons. And I just think that someone should just have this unwavering courage to swim deeper, deeper. . .and deeper, just to have the glimpse of transcendence in actuality.

I don’t know. Maybe it’s the serenity that I think about these things. Or the cool stillness, keeping my chaotic thoughts intact, keeping even an iota from escaping beyond my mind’s boundary. I think this is when you stop worrying and feeling anything. You just live.

Yet, in an instant, I feel the need to open my eyes.

“Jesus Christ. . .” I utter unconsciously, realizing I am in a strange place. But I don’t hear my own voice. Instead, bubbles emerge from my mouth, then on my nostrils.

I roam my eyes, beholding the utter silence and almost complete darkness amid the depths of the sea. I look above, hardly appreciating the beauty of the bursting rays of the sun piercing from the surface to the smallest bubbles.

Still dazed, I stroke my hands against the embrace of the cold water around me so I can reach the surface. Every stroke, I resume thinking how I ended up this deep.

I mean, what had freaking happened?

Stroke.

Again.

And then another.

It’s almost a minute when I am finally able to reach the surface and breathe my lungs out. My every attempt of inhalation and exhalation is so needing like I will be literally dead if I won’t.

“This”—inhale—“is weird.” —and then exhale. I spit out the water inside my mouth. “Shit.” There’s a sharp air draw inside my lungs. I disregard the pain and continue to swim.

“Christian! God, save him!”

I eschew the memory away. I pant while stroking my arms, thrusting my legs underwater, now to reach the shore. Well, I freaking need to get out of this place before a plethora of reminiscence will ruin me again.

This is why I hate seas. Fuck it.

As I approach the shore, that’s when I realize I am alone in this desolate place. I prop my hands to my knees, rubbing my toes against the beach sand, gasping for fresh air. The breeze feels so chilly so I rub my palms against each other.

Then I slump to the rough sand.

“Where is this place?” I whisper to myself. “This is fucking weird.” I scoop handful of sand and then throw it to the subsiding wave, letting the water to disperse every littlest grain and bring it to the abysmal part of the sea.

God, I sound so poetic.

Another soft wind blows. I close my eyes and heave a deep breath. I try not to smile, to no avail. As I hear the rushing waves, the harmonious rustling of leaves and the familiar smell of the air, the memory of my childhood, like a wave, crashes against my mind.

We were at the beach with my whole family when I was six. Even though my grandparents are too old for family outing, they were also with us. I was my grandpa’s boy, so the whole time, we were playing senseless games which I suggested.

“Whoever finds ten seashells first is the winner! Fair enough, Pops?” I challenged giddily.

I remember how tenderly his gaze was, like I’m the softest thing he had ever seen. I close my eyes, trying to recapture his euphoric smile while saying “fair enough, buddy.”

And that was where it began.

I feel a tinge of pain within my heart. I try to block the memories from washing over me. But you see, memories. . .they are just hard to forget, especially when it had been a largest fragment of you.

So, I continue remembering, hoping that it would soon appease the pain.

Our game had started. Pops warned me not to get so close to the sea. I nodded giddily. He ruffled my hair, counted to three, then a blur. I was happily finding seashells, adamant of defeating Pops. And that led me to unconsciously—or consciously? I can’t really recall—forget his safety reminder. Maybe I thought it would be quick searching shells near the water.

“Pops, I won! I won! Here’s my tenth seashell!” I shouted joyfully. Pops immediately turned to me, and as soon as he saw me, his smile was instantly washed over by horror.

“Christian!”

And before I could even speak, I felt the wave crashed against my little body. At that time, the tide was mildly raging and I had my back faced to the seawater, so I quickly tumbled over. I was just panicking! That instead of swimming, I just screamed and screamed until the wave brought me to the shallow part of the sea. My mind was clouded with intense fear, since I was just a kid, so I can’t stroke my hands and I just desperately shouted for help.

“God, save him!”

My poor chest sank when Pops shouted that. In spite of difficulty to keep afloat, I saw my family washed with complete fear. My oldest brother, Jesse, sprinted towards my direction. That’s when I stopped struggling to float, letting the water fill my lungs. At that moment of slowly losing my consciousness, all I was thinking was Pops. Not my mom, dad, brothers and grandma.

Only him.

My brother Jesse welcomed me the moment I opened my eyes and spat water out of my lungs. His eyes were bloodshot. He burst into tears and hugged me. That time, I swore to myself he’s the second person I will never forget.

“Damn, Christian! You scared us so much! Why the hell you were at the shore?” Dad was seething. Mom tried to coo him. My brothers were silent. Pops made me sit on his lap while I was crying, then there’s Mama beside us.

“It was my fault, Elijah. Don’t shout at your son,” said my Pops.

Dad shook his head. I can’t remember all what he had said, but I remember myself walking out of them while sobbing uncontrollably.

Another blur.

“Why was Dad”—hiccup—“so mad, Pops? Does he really”—hiccup—“love me?” I asked him. He accompanied me at the tent. He was hugging me on his chest while ruffling my hair.

“Yes, buddy, we all love you. Don’t ever doubt that.”

“He seemed”—and again—“so angry even though I nearly”—another hiccup—“died, Pops. I don’t think that is love.”

He chuckled. “Son, you’ll know much about love when you are man enough. For now, I could assure you that your Daddy Elijah loves you.” Pops pointed the sea. “Into the deep, you’ll never know the pain they would go through because of losing you.”

I stayed silent because my innocence couldn’t understand his words yet.

“I love you, Christian. . .”

“I love you, too, Pops.”

“More than your Daddy Elijah?”

I innocently nodded. And then a hiccup.

He laughed and planted a soft kiss on my forehead.

“Don’t grow up fast, buddy.”

My eyes are starting to form a rainstorm as the reminiscence begins to calm down. As I close my eyes, the warmth of my tears made its way through my cheeks. I cover my mouth as the anguish of the past drowns me of emotions I can’t comprehend.

“I miss you, Pops. . .” I bite my lip, suppressing the raging melancholy. “Oh, god, I miss you so much. Please come back.”

Twenty-six years had passed. The pain? It never left. It just festered.

That’s why I don’t believe that time heals everything. It fucking doesn’t. It worsens what’s already rotten. And what’s broken? It stays as it is, piercing everything it touches, infusing bitterness until it becomes a part of you. You end up left in downright destruction and beyond repair.

The wind blows again. I wipe away my tears and slam my fist on my chest. “Pops, where is God when I was hurting?” I whisper, hoping someone will save me from drowning within the depths of gloom.

But would it not fail me?

Because that God? That particular God whom my family believes in, the God whom they worship every freaking Sunday, the God whom Pops said loves me more than anyone could that he laid his life for me, the God who promised an abundant life?

He never really existed.

Or maybe he does.

But maybe I just don’t care anymore.

I dig my fingers into the sand, trying not to burst into tears again. My heart’s so heavy and my lips are quivering and I just don’t know what to feel. Fuck. I am in a complete mess.

“Uh, hello?”

My atmosphere ripples when I hear approaching footsteps. I look to where the sound is coming from and then I see a guy. He has a long, tousled hair blown by the wind. He’s wearing whites: from his polo whose sleeves are messily folded by the elbow, cargo shorts, down to his leather boots.

“May I ask you a question?”

I sigh exasperatingly. “You are already asking, man.” I don’t intend to answer sarcastically. I just can’t help it!

He chuckles. “Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll ask another one.” I shake my head incredulously. Typical nice guy. I look at him. He looks so gentle, that’s why I immediately look away. I don’t want to remember my Pops the way he looks.

“Do you know where we are?”

I look at him again, dazed.

He scratches his nape.

Oh, right! I was too immersed with my own pain I forgot to wonder about where is this place. Roaming my eyes, I just see unfamiliar hints. I spin around, trying to recollect images from my mind. “Damn.” I remove the sharp pebble under my feet. That’s when I realize I am barefoot all along. “Where the hell are my shoes?”

“Are those yours?”

I lift my glance to the guy. He’s smiling, which I don’t care about, really. Tracing the direction of his pointing finger, I recognize that near the subsiding waves are my shoes.

“Thanks,” I hesitantly say.

He just winks.

Limping, I slowly walk to get my shoes. Staying here is a bad idea. That guy’s so weird! I mean, why didn’t I instantly realize the fact that he went here deliberately? Hey, after all, he looks so decent! A man like that can’t be lost.

I unconsciously shake my head.

“Watch out, Christian!”

I arch a brow. I look back only to see his meek smile.

“Man, you’re so freaking weird.”

“Be careful.”

I just shrug. The moment I grab my shoes, another wave splashes against the sand, touching the tip of my toes. In an instant, my head throbs.

“Damn, Christian! Why the hell you were at the shore?”

What the fuck?

“Your Daddy Elijah loves you.”

“I don’t want to live here anymore! All of you are so fucking draining!”

I intently close my eyes, groaning because of the searing pain.

“You’ll meet me, after this, somewhere better, buddy.”

Then I hear weeping.

“Take care of your Dad for me.”

Stop. . .

“Pops! Don’t go!”

Sobs. A kiss. Closing eyes. Sniffles.

“Your Dad will come back. I promise you.”

Silence. Ignition of car. Darkness.

“Don’t leave us, Elijah.”

Crickets.

“I’m tired, Rebekah. I just can’t do this.”

I feel like my strength is leaving my body.

“Promise you’ll come back.”

It was a simple sigh that ruined my family.

The moment the recollected pieces of my memories begin to subside, a hand kept my body from falling. I slowly open my eyes and then I see the weird guy’s concern written on his face.

“Are you okay, Christian?”

My chest constricts. His voice was so gentle.

But a realization dawned on me.

“Who—who are you?” I quickly stand up and step aback. “How did you know. . .my name?” A surge of apprehension wraps my heart.

I shake my head, uncertain. Without a word, I start to walk away from the man.

“That particular spot. . .”

No. . .

I continue walking, not wanting to hear any of his words.

“. . .is the same spot where you found your winning shell.”

I clench my fist and face him. We’re feet away from each other, but I catch a glimpse of empathy on his face.

“What are you saying?” My lips quiver. I run my fingers exasperatingly through my hair and expel a tired breath. “How did you know about. . .that?”

“Chris—”

“Fuck! Just answer me!”

He doesn’t speak for about several seconds. Instead, a brisk wind blows. “I am. . .who I am.” There’s a sad smile across his lips. My lips part in awe, but I immediately regain my composure. “That God—”

“No, stop.” I bite my lip so hard I tasted something metallic. “I’ll leave.” This isn’t real, Christian. This isn’t real, I keep whispering to myself.

“Christia—”

“Stop calling my name!”

“I am here now, buddy. . .”

I shake my head with disgust. “So, you heard my thoughts, huh?” I say with sarcasm. “Didn’t you hear that I don’t care if you exist?”

He remains silent.

“This?” I spread my arms, point him and myself, and shrug. “This doesn’t change anything, Father or Jesus or Holy Spirit or some random moron you are.”

“Jesus,” he retorts, chuckling gloomily.

“Yeah, thanks.”

I start walking. Because if I don’t, I will literally lose the ounce of sanity left in me. Maybe I am stupid to expect that he would draw himself near me, to confirm that I wasn’t delusional, but I still do.

“Of course, I am, Christian. I always will, buddy.”

“Don’t read my thoughts.”

He let out another restrained chuckle. “I don’t read them. I know them before you can think of them.” And even though I expect that it would sound bragging, all I hear is a pure pleasure. “But honestly, I prefer your voice, Christian. I always want to hear your thoughts like it is for the first time.”

“What do you want from me, Jesus?” I ask once and for all.

We stare at each other’s eyes. Mine was challenging because I want him to know that I am not in the mood for his games. Every strands of his hair, unlike before, majestically glimmers. I don’t know why it happened but maybe it’s an indication of what he’s feeling. If he really is Jesus he assumes to be, I want him to know that he’s not needed here.

“What is your metaphor for oceans, Christian?” He asks instead. I arch a brow, silently groaning because of the unfairness between us. I mean, yeah, he is a God—if he really is. And yeah, I’m just a human. He knows all about me. I don’t know much about him.

I wish I can know what he’s thinking about me.

I wonder how it feels to be a God.

“When I spoke the oceans into existence—”

“My Pops told me it was God the Father who spoke all things into existence.” I arch a brow. “So, who really did?”

“I am the Word, right?”

He walks towards me and sits on the sand while I’m still standing. He smiles, hair still glowing, and looks beyond the ocean.

“I don’t understand, really.”

He chuckles. This time, we’re sitting beside each other. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” After talking, he looks directly into my eyes with genuineness that I have to look away.

“Honestly, this whole Trinity thing still bothers me,” I admit. “Can we please not talk about it anymore, Jesus?”

The corners of his eyes wrinkle when he burst into laughter. Unconsciously, the corner of my lips curves a little. I suppress the knocking emotion outside my heart, afraid of creating an attachment.

“Going back to oceans, it has always been a pleasure to us when it was created. To limit myself is maybe to compare myself to an ocean. Water so deep, raging yet comforting, and only few people who know how to swim will be able to somehow behold a deeper part of me,” he explains. He scoops a handful of sand, waits for the wave to subside, and little by little, sprinkles the sand to the clear water. “How about you, buddy?”

I refuse to open up by shaking my head.

“Come on. No judgments?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

I sigh in resignation. “You know I hate oceans, or seas, at a particular matter. I just can’t talk about it.”

“Why?”

There’s a familiar wrenching of my heart. And then with shaking lips, I speak. “It was when I don’t care about you anymore.” He doesn’t look shock. Instead, he looks pained. For a moment, I wonder how it hurts for him to know I hate him both through knowing my thoughts and hearing the hostility laced with my voice. “My Pops used to talk about you a lot. I know he loved you more than he did to me.” I look to the sky, preventing a threat of tears in my eyes. “And once in my life, I tried to love you like Pops did. But I couldn’t.”

He just listens. It is more acceptable for me if he will interrupt between my statements. But he seems so eager to know more, even if it hurts him.

“Honestly, Lord, loving you will always be the hardest for me.”

And with that, I am sure my words pierce through him.

Instead, he smiles. “You love your Pops so deeply, don’t you?” The glow of his hair slowly fades until it is back to its normal state. I nod like a child. “I know you hated me for taking your grandfather’s life—”

I move an inch away from him.

“No.” I clutch the hem of my shirt tightly. “You can’t go there.”

“I know, buddy, I know. . .” The atmosphere around us becomes heavier, almost unbearable.  “But you see, it is time for you to move on.”

Out of utmost disbelief, I laugh painfully. “Move on?” I nod, slowly digesting every word he uttered. “Wow. That’s a good advice, huh?” I sarcastically say.

He remains silent.

“Why do you, of all people, want me to move on? You were never there when I endured those twenty-six freaking years!” I exclaim. I move another inch away. I point at him insultingly. “You are talking as if you know my pain!”

“Yes. . .”

I shake my head.

“No, You don’t.”

He bites his trembling lip.

Instead of speaking, I watch him caressing a small part of his arm. I avert my gaze, unable to breath, when I saw the familiar scar on his wrist.

“Do I brag about this?” He asks rhetorically. “Maybe I am. . .” His voice goes soft. “But you see, Christian, this is more than a scar. This is more than a physical torture.” I catch his voice shaking. “And believe it or not, buddy, I was thinking of you when I died on that cross. I was thinking of your Pops, of your Dad, of your whole family even before you were even born.”

I remain still, breathing hitched.

“I did this for you to bear your sins and to make you realize that when speaking of pain, you can count on me, Christian. . .” A pause. “The epitome of forsakenness.” And then I hear a long, quivering sigh.

“Why?” is all I could say, unsure to where it pertains.

“Because I never wanted anyone to think that I am an apathetic God who lets His people suffer and imposes my commandments.” I hear him sniff. I am not looking at him, because God knows I’m afraid, just to see that he’s crying. “I am not who you think I am, Christian. All of these things you’ve suffered, don’t ever think I didn’t grieve with you.”

“Instead of grieving with me, why didn’t You just let my Pops live so we can be happy together?” I glance at him. His eyes are glistening. “I just couldn’t cope with the abruption, when everything happened so fast.”

He shows a pale smile. “I’m a God, right? Don’t I know what I’m doing?” There isn’t a hint of boast in his voice. “I just want you to trust me in this, Christian. I wanted to teach you a lesson.”

I nod mockingly and expel an exasperated breath. “Lessons.” I snap my fingers. “Right! You are a God of lessons! Why do you have this habit of teaching lessons when I don’t even need it? I just wanted my Pops, Lord! And I just don’t understand why you took him so early!”

“Because of your Dad, Christian.”

With a heaving chest, I crease my forehead. “What?”

“I don’t want you to grow having your deep-seated hatred for your Dad. And I know you still hate him up to now, even though he’s completely a new man.”

I squeeze my lips as I breathe heavily, trying not to entertain the building anxiety within my heart.

“He messed up. And I was deeply grieved because of what he did on the past. But you never know what he did just to seek my forgiveness, Christian. You’ll never know the years he suffered when he left your family. You’ll never know how long he wept because of the agony of losing you when he decided to left.”

Oh, God. . .

“You’ll never know that, Christian. You’ll never know how Elijah loved you so pure, so deeply, so vulnerably.”

“But he left us!”

“He grieved because of your Pops’ death, Christian. You didn’t know about their relationship.”

I shake my head, unable to process everything.

Jesus smiles weakly. “Elijah didn’t have the chance to reconcile with your Pops. Your relationship with your Pops, Christian, is a constant reminder of the love he never had.”

A sob escapes. If it’s from his mouth or from mine, I don’t know anymore.

“Oh, God, no. . .”

He bites his lip. “He left you because he was afraid he can’t love you right. He needed to fix his life with me, also when his marriage was crumbling.”

A tear fell.

“But these. . .” Another tear. I harshly wipe it away. “All these things might have not happened when You didn’t take away Pops’ life!”

I stand up. I need to get out of this suffocating place.

“Christian, you are trying to make sense through your own understanding,” he states as he stands up.

I shrug to silence him. “This is your entire fault!”

“Okay, buddy. . .”

I shake my head. “Be mad! You are a God, right? Then you know the thoughts running through my head! Because you know what? I think about how responsible you are for the blame!”

“I understand,” he says instead.

I step aback. He steps forward.

“You know what infuriates me? Oh, right!” I scoff, tears are in the brink of falling. “Of course, you do! But let me say it these to you out loud, Jesus. . .”

I keep on stepping backward.

He keeps on stepping forward.

“I hate you so much.”

He shakes his head. “No, Christian.” One step forward. I lose all the willpower to move when he pats my head. “I love you, buddy.” And like a ticking bomb, all of the emotions geared inside me explode. “I love you so much.” And then a glowing tear fell from his eye.

I grasp his shoulder and pull him into a hug.

“Oh, Lord. . .I’m sorry.”

Our shoulders both shake from the overwhelming emotions.

“God, I’m so sorry. . .”

He pats my back. I clutch his shirt so tight I’m afraid I might lose him, too.

“It’s okay, buddy. I’m here now. . .”

I groan. As my sobs grow uncontrollable, the Lord doesn’t hush me. He’s whispering incoherent words, yet it drives me to hug him tighter, cry to his shoulders, and just stay the rest of my life with him. I feel the apprehension in my heart starts to unwrap. I cry my heart out, uttering countless apologies, but Jesus reciprocates it with a simple “it’s okay.”

God, I was such a jerk.

When we both finish crying, he holds my chin and tilted my downcast face. He smiles with his ever inexplicable radiance while saying, “I’ll show you something.”

He gives me a tap before leading the way. Confidently, I follow him. But I immediately realize that he was walking along the water and he keeps on treading the path until he gets to the deeper part of the sea.

“Christian!” He calls my name with utmost tenderness. He laughs when he sees me. “Are you still afraid?”

I mean, I want to say no—

“—but you don’t want to lie on a God.” He shakes his head while laughing. “Well, thank you, buddy!”

I snicker. He’s far from what I have always imagined.

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid—”

“—do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go,” I continue his statement. “Why do you quote Scriptures, Lord?”

“Well,” he shrugs, “it is my word, remember?” He winks, brushes his damp hair, and smiles.

And maybe it is weird for a guy to say this, but my Lord? He’s just so handsome.

“You are created in my image, Christian. You are also handsome, always remember that!” He says with enthusiasm.

I sigh. Why does he keep on reading my thoughts?

“Come, Christian! I’ll show you the most important part of my visit.”

I don’t know, but the moment he said that, I run towards him even though I’m still afraid of this particular ocean. The Lord assists me when I reach him. The cold water and my anxiety mix together, resulting in a weird trembling and churning of stomach.

“Trust me in this, buddy. I’m here beside you,” Jesus says while holding my back. “The moment I submerge you, stay for several seconds. And then, after that, I’ll take you up.” I nod hesitantly. He taps my chest and says, “I’m with you. Always.”

And that soothe my fear.

The Lord guides my head. And after a count of three, he immerses me completely, from my feet to my head. He pushed me with a mild force but I still end up deep. Again, the utter silence envelopes me. I try to look up, and I see the submerged, steady feet of my Lord. It appears that he is standing even when his feet are literally underwater.

After several seconds, as he promised, he dives to take me up. When we both reach the surface, we are panting for air.

“How about that?” He smiles.

I smile, too. “Great.”

And then in a fraction of a second, I am stunned when we are sitting on the surface of the water.

“How. . .how did this happen?”

He just shrugs while laughing.

“Now, let me ask you a question, Christian,” He starts saying. “What is your metaphor for an ocean? Or perhaps, related to an ocean? Maybe a wave?”

I think of something I related to an ocean. Then a thought strikes me.

“Perhaps, my relationship with you.”

“Great! What about that?”

The sea breeze blows. “When you seemed silent, I was so disappointed.” I sigh. “I was at the shore of your heart, you know? I was waiting for your living water to splash against me, embrace me, and carry me to the depths of you. But like a lake, you were utterly quiet.” My heart aches a little. “Sorry, Lord. . .”

“It’s alright, silly. Those things were on purpose.”

I stay silent, expectant of his further explanation.

“The mistakes of your family were never on purpose. But my Father in heaven works every little detail for the greater good.” He pauses. “Into the deep, Christian, only you will experience both pain and comfort.”

“How?” I ask, confused.

“I am your living water, right? So the moment you are drowned, you are surrounded by lots of water. And that is My love for you, buddy.” He smiles and ruffles my hair. “Yet, I know it is excruciating because it is hard to breathe below.”

All I can do is to nod.

“When I submerged you, what did you hear underwater?” he asks again.

Slowly, I shake my head.

He smiles again, taking the whole pleasure in our conversation. “But don’t you know that I said words?”

Curious, I ask, “what?”

“I said, ‘Remember that I love you, Christian.’”

My heart melts in utmost warmth.

“You see, Christian, into the deep, you will never hear anything but your own breathing. Deep within, I know you know that it is so dark, so silent, so desolate.”

Series of realization rush through and within my being.

“But remember that when it seems so silent and so dark, you are still embraced and lavished with the love of my Father through me. That into the deep, you will experience my love deeply. And what you discovered below, you will remember at the surface. I never wanted you to have a shallow life and a shallow knowledge of me.”

I wipe my away my tears while sniffing. The Lord snickers as he squeezes my shoulder. Then he pulls me into a hug. “Do you want to go with me into the deep?” he invites.

Without a doubt, I answer, “Yes, Lord. I will.”

I burst into tears when a prism of colors surrounds us. A transcendent warmth envelopes our bodies as I share the love with my Lord through the physical contact. It is like the strings of our hearts that were once severed are now piecing together. The feeling is too glorious to even explain by mere words.

The moment we break our hug, the Lord transfigures into a glorious reflection of light and colors. He pastes a warm smile across his lips. And I do the same, but yeah, the only difference is that I keep on shedding tears.

“I know you are curious why you ended up into this particular sea, Christian.”

“Yeah. . .” I weakly utter, unable to contain the magnificence of his glory.

“In that particular spot, you attempted to take your own life.”

God. . .

“So, am I already dead, Lord?”

“Do you want to come with me today?”

“But, Lord, how about my Dad?”

Jesus laughs at my uncertainty. “He’s waiting for you. He collapsed when he found out what you did.” He smiles again. “Go home. Get your shoes at the shore. Reconcile with your Dad.” He smiles again and again.

“When I will be able to experience You like this, Lord?” I ask, a bit of gloomy, and yet, hopeful.

Before he completely ascends from above, he whispers, “Either in heaven or into the deep, Christian.”

Oh, boy, I want to go into the deep again.