“This Place is Very Important to Me”

Imagine me, eyes shut tight, holding Jesus’ hand in two of my own, dripping from head to toe with his blood.

A torrent of some sort of good feeling washes through my body and whips my head this way and that way. I look at Jesus; fear on my face wrinkles my forehead.

“I made those feelings,” Jesus says. “They’re good. They’re made with purpose.”

The torrent of good feelings tingle one of my arms and lift it into the air. It feels like my arm is a glitter rainbow. Jesus smiles.

“But Jesus! It’s pulling me away from you! Look, I’m only holding on with one hand now!” I say. My body leans away from him. “Help me, Jesus!”

“Isabel,” he says. “Look at your feet.”

I look down and see that we’re walking. My feet move me forward. I lift a knee, but my foot does not land where I think it will.

“Look,” Jesus says.

On my ankles, firmly positioning my heels, Jesus’ hands grip me.

“I direct your steps,” he says.

“But Jesus, why couldn’t I feel your hands on my heels?” I feel stupid for having thought Jesus only had two hands.

“Feeling is not everything,” he says.

Suddenly, a gush of something pushes me from behind. Jesus’ hand is ripped from mine.

“No!” I scream. “Jesus, where are you?!”

“I am where you are,” he says. “Can I show you something?”

“Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t hold on to you tighter,” I say.

“Isabel, look at your feet,” Jesus says.

Jesus’ hands firmly grip my heels. I laugh with relief.

“Where are you, Jesus?” I ask, giddy now. I glance around.

“Child, I am where you are,” Jesus says. “Look around.”

I look up, down and around. Deep, garnet-red walls surround me. Velvety pink, blue, yellow, orange flowers grow down from the ceiling. Their fragrance is intoxicating. A window is open, shining beautiful, warm, morning sunlight into the room. Birds chirp, and my heart sores. And soars.

“Jesus, this room is fantastic!” I say, squishing my bare feet into the soft red carpet. “Will you please be with me here? I want to share this with you.”

And then Jesus is by my side again. 

“This place is very important to me,” Jesus says.

“What is this place?” I ask.

“It is your heart,” he says. “Come here.” Jesus grabs my hand and places it on the wall, which I find to be wet. My chest aches for a moment, and I step back instinctively. I look at his face, and he nods. So I step forward, and touch the wall. Redness pours over my knuckles, and I cry out. Jesus covers my hand with his.

“It’s okay,” he says. He pushes my hand onto the wall harder, and it starts to give way. Our hands sink in, and I wail. Are there bullet holes in my abdomen? Blood runs down our forearms as we push deeper into the wall. 

“Why, Jesus? Why?! I don’t want to question your ways, but why are we doing this? Jesus? It hurts so bad!”

“Keep going! Do you feel it yet?” Jesus asks. Just then, my hand in the wall wraps around something hard, round, the size of a softball.

“Yes,” I whimper, tears warming my cheeks.

“Grab it,” he says. Together, our hands wrap around it and pull back out of the wall. I bend forward, breathing heavily. I see the thick blood from the wall is all over him, and the floor has a large puddle of it covering our feet. I concentrate on breathing slowly.

“You did such a good job,” Jesus says. “You got it out. You got the seed out.”

I look at the thing in my hand. It’s black and shiny. It has tiny barbs that poke me, and it’s dripping with blood.

“That was not supposed to be there,” Jesus says.

The thing looks so familiar. “I remember this thing,” I say. “It’s been in there a long time, hasn’t it?”

“Yes. Today is the day I appointed for it to be removed.”

“What if we had done this sooner?” I ask.

“Give it to me now, Isabel,” Jesus says.