He paced nervously up and down the corridor, he was obviously half conscious of what he was doing, and visibly abstracted to what went on on around him, as he was engrossed in thoughts that seemed; from the look on his face, to be enshrouded in uncertainty and fear. You could hear a silent prayer from the supplicatory look on his face. He looked anxiously through the translucent glass window hoping to catch a glimse that would give him some hope, all to no avail. He was definitely concerned about whatever went on behind those doors.
It was a middlesized room with a bed in the center; it was furnished with all sorts of monstrous looking equipments. An IV infusion pump stood some centimeters away from the bed, there was a vital signs monitor situated in a comfortable corner a small distance from the bed. It was a laborious evening for everyone in there. Strained faces, tensed looks; everyone was on the go. A woman lay on the bed, the stirr-ups were out and in use. There was an agonising look on her face and paroxysmal groanings accompanied by screaming and pushing came from her as she was assailed by the relentless contractions of her uterine muscles. You could tell she was in labour........... oh my god; it was the delivery room.
I stood watching closely and paying unwavering attention to all that went on in there; it was so intense and engrossing that i barely realised it when i fell into a state of abstractedness. I was slowly absorbed into a scenario that was very many years ago. The woman seemed to be thrown into torture by an unseen force; every contraction seemed to be a lash of the whip from a centurion, the bloodstain on the bed was gradually changed into an effusive flow of blood; it dropped and trickled all the way down. I shivered as i felt a drop fall on my hand. The groaning got louder and louder, it was interrupted only by desperate inspirations of air, the unseen fores metamorphosized into cruel lashes inflicted by the daunting whips of soldiers, the whole place seemed to be flooded with blood and water as a spear dug deep into the sides of the man who was now strapped on in place of the woman. He groaned and screamed, his words showed how much he ached to be relieved of his misery. He appeared to have infinite power to free himself but he chose to bear the cross. The voices of nurses and medical personnel culminated into shouts of mockery and contempt as acrid remarks poured out of the angry hateful hearts of all those around. Never had i imagined so much pain never had i imagined so much torture.i discovered i was no longer looking down at a bed but at a man propped up on a t-shaped wooden bar, with his hands stretched apart perpendicular to his torso. The straps that latched on to him now appeared to be nails dug right throught his palms and feet. A crown of thorn was set on his head such that it set trickles of blood into motion down the contours of his face.
I turned around to see the faces of the people, the infernals they blurted out began to sound like cries, desperate cries for help, they seemed to be in dire need of a saviour as i saw through their faces into their their hearts and minds; i could tell they were plagued by depravity.It appeared to be like the serpent biting the children of israel in the desert, as they looked up to the man on the cross who seemed to take the place of the serpent lifted up by MOses on the road to Atharim. This picture lingered on in my mind and then brightened up into the picture of the disciples looking up to one who seemed to ascend to the heavens. I realized it was the same one who was on the cross, and then suddenly he seemed to burst out of the clouds with so much glory as can not be worded. There were millions of them who watched him descend from the clouds, a golden crown on which was written 'king of kings' sat upon his head and an uncountable number of people were caught up to be with him. Their robes so white they sparkled liked they had been washed in blood, the blood that flowed from the cross.
I was brougth back to awareness by a tender cry. There was a peace and silence in the room. The struggle was over. The baby had been born. Such was to be the case of mankind. Such is the case of the saints. As she suffered the pangs of birth for one child, born into a new generation, so did Jesus suffer birth pangs for the world; even for as many as would be born into a new life for untold generations to come. I am as a child and He my mother, i am as a one in trouble and He my saviour, i am as a people and He my lord and king.......He is my essence.
Emmanuel O. Nwaozo
SFC Moscow Press Unit©2010
The aura in fellowship today was well beyond description as SFC Moscow, glued to their seats, watched in awe as the pictures of John Bunyan’s Pilgrim Progress flickered through the screens, illustrating the truth in the journey of a Christian to the Father.
