Of all the questions God might ask me, one in particular fills me with dread. It’s important. It’s crucial. In fact, it might be the most penetrating, vital question of all. But because my potential answer reveals so much about me, because it makes me feel naked emotionally and psychologically and spiritually, I’m afraid to respond. And, I suspect, you are too.
“Dear God, make me right with you, then kill me.” For many years, that was my go-to prayer. I was certain that should I die in my sorry spiritual condition, I’d awake in hell. Life no longer held hope for me, so I envied those six feet under this world of hurt. So blending together this cocktail petition of doubt, despair, and fear, I prayed a wish for death, with one precondition.