By Harbinder, 24, Singapore
Sitting in a corner of her room with nothing but moonlight illuminating the space and shadows dancing across its rays, she takes hold of a knife and cuts herself. The familiar sensation of open wound and blood trickling down her hand comforts her. She gives herself a few more stripes, trying to drown out the numbness that has lodged itself deep within her. Numbness that has been accumulated through her sixteen years of life.
I tried, she tells herself as tears intermingle with the blood on the floor. I tried.
Life has dealt her one devastating blow after another. Her mother died while giving birth to her and her father has never stopped blaming her for it. Her older brother was murdered when she was six. She thinks of this and the numbness intensifies.
She feels her life dripping away and welcomes it, longing for death’s fatal embrace.
As she begins to feel lighter and lighter, almost as if she’s floating on air, a bright light fills the room and she stares in silent amazement as a man appears before her. Where fear should grip her—peace befalls her instead. He places His hands on her open wounds and instantly they are healed, not only the ones on her wrists but also the deep invisible scars in her soul. In shock and awe she whispers, “Who are You?”
He smiles and says, “Look at My wounds.” She sees punctured wounds on His hands and side where large nails and a spear were driven through. “I am Jesus, the Lamb that was slain. I was crucified and as I suffered, I saw you and your pain and took it upon myself. Through all of life’s tribulations, I am with you.”
“Do not spill your blood my child—I shed mine so that you wouldn’t have to.”
“He was beaten so we could be whole. He was whipped so we could be healed.”—Isaiah 53:5 NLT