“Emboli from the left atrium in association with atrial fibrillation, a left-sided mural thrombus,” were the words my eyes were reading as I sit in our school’s library, Jesus Culture’s My Romance playing through my earphones.
My heart is lifted up in a dance again, twirled so gently by arms—strong and trained to hold the fragile hearts of men and women alike. It is in these moments which I least expect God to actually show up in my life, but nevertheless my heart remaining wide-eyed on His next move.
I sit in composure and yet my heart inside is slowly tearing up into beautiful fragments of pure thirst for Him who gives life to my sun-scorched heart. Like the Samaritan woman who desperately wanted the Living Water offered to her by Jesus Christ, I was, in the said moment, by the well of Bethel, trying to scoop water for my dried up skin, bones and flesh.
And then He showed up. Jesus was faithful to show up again. Even if I failed Him countless times, He still showed up—-like a lover would.
My heart was brought again to the experience of being love-struck of Jesus’ pursuit for my ever-wandering heart. The hairs on my spine stand on its end as His hands grab hold of mine as soon as He catches up with my escape towards nowhere.