It was last weekend when he came to me. I was sitting in my dorm late Saturday night, once again alone and lusting for something more.
He appeared right as I was falling asleep. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the booklet of gospel hymns that was thrust towards me on Ho Plaza the week before. It was as if he was calling to me.
I turned the page and immediately felt the rush of my lord all over me. From singing “I’ll Fly Away” to “Amazing Grace,” he continuously entered my soul until I was completely out of breath.
Lying on my bed, as sweat dripped down my face, I thought I’d had enough. But I needed more. I rummaged through my belongings to find the Bible my grandma threw in my suitcase before I left home.
I never would have thought that I’d be able to last so long; it was only my first time. But we went on, verse after verse, until the sun began to rise.
Finally, it was his time to go. I sent him off on my knees, reciting his prayers, gleefully waiting until we would meet again.
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