Member-only story
Jesus as Christ
A Personal Story
There was an ornate crucifix on the wall of my cramped bedroom with 1950s wallpaper swirls — flowers and sheaves of leaves. The nightlight cast a dreary orange glow on the memory of the room, which had sloping walls from gabled windows. I was four years old.
This was among my first memories.
I was trying to catch stars. There was enough light for me to see the stars dart across the ceiling. If I could only capture one to prevent it from moving, I could examine it and know what it was. But as soon as my eyes focused on one star, they would dart back to the opposite side of the room into the shadows of darkness. Despite the swift movement of the stars, I glimpsed their outlines. I gave up, realizing I would never catch a star.
“Jesus, will you protect me?” I asked in a faint whisper, looking at Him on the crucifix.
In a moment he was standing over my bed, with a thin-lipped smile and a soft glow around his head. He floated above me, and I felt the heel of his hand near my sexual organs and the tips of his fingers feathering my throat. I felt safe under His protection. I sensed He would always be with me, and there was nothing to fear. Sensing — He was gone but something of him lingered.
