A Wake Up Call

CONTENT WARNING: Contains mentions of abandonment, alcoholism, and abuse.

Sarah adjusted her lanyard and took a deep breath, stepping into the grand conference hall, Bible in hand. She grabbed a program and took a seat. The Christian Renewal Conference in Miami, Florida was an event she had been looking forward to for months. The hotel was bustling with fellow believers, worship music filled the air, and the atmosphere was alive with anticipation.

The first session was powerful. The guest speaker, Pastor Elias Carter, spoke on the necessity of forgiveness, citing the parable of the unmerciful servant. Sarah nodded along but felt the familiar resistance in her heart. She had heard these messages before. But forgiving her parents? Impossible. Her father had abandoned their family when she was only ten, leaving her mother to struggle alone. She became an alcoholic and abusive. The pain had never faded, only hardened into quiet bitterness.

By the end of the session, exhaustion hit her like a wave. A deep fatigue, unnatural and heavy. Maybe it was the jet lag or the long drive from the airport to the hotel. Or maybe it was the flu going around. She excused herself and trudged up to her hotel room. As she lay down, her body ached, and a fever burned under her skin. Sleep took her swiftly.

Then she woke up—somewhere else.

She was no longer in her hotel room bed but standing in darkness—a darkness so piercing, so oppressive, an abyss stretching endlessly around her. The air was thick with heat and an acrid scent of sulfur. Before she could call out, searing pain exploded across her body. Fire. Unquenchable fire. It was everywhere. She screamed, but the sound was swallowed by a chorus of wails—thousands, no, millions of voices crying out in torment. Or was it billions?

She was in Hell. She was sure of it.

Shadowy figures moved around her. Demons, grotesque and twisted, their laughter mocking. Chains coiled around her wrists, dragging her forward. Every step sent agony coursing through her. Her body burned and turned her as black as sin—she was sin. She fell, but the chains yanked her back up. The screams of others blended with her own.

"No! This isn’t real! Jesus, help me!" she shrieked.

A voice, deep and resonant, cut through the cacophony.

"You are here because of unforgiveness."

Sarah sobbed. "No, I lived a good life! I believed in Christ!"

"And yet, you harbored hate. You refused to forgive, though you were forgiven."

The words slammed into her, carrying an undeniable truth. She had clung to her pain, her resentment, justifying it over the years. She had never let it go.

Time became meaningless. She suffered through torments beyond comprehension, a prisoner to her own bitterness. Years passed—ten, twenty, thirty. Every second felt like an eternity. Regret weighed heavier than the chains. She wanted another chance, but she knew none would come.

Then, on the fortieth year, something shifted.

A blinding light pierced through the darkness, a warmth different from the fire’s cruel burn. The chains shattered. Sarah gasped as she shot upward, away from the abyss. She was falling—no, rising—until suddenly, she was back.

Gasping, drenched in sweat, she found herself in a hospital bed. Her hospital gown was soaked through. A nurse hovered nearby, startled by her sudden awakening.

"Water," she croaked weakly.

The nurse hurried to bring her a cup. The cold liquid slid down her throat, grounding her in reality. She was alive. Sick and weak but alive. Fever breaking, heart racing. She had contracted a rare aggressive strain of Covid-19 and was in a coma for four months. The doctors and nurses weren't sure if she would live. In fact, they had asked her siblings if they wanted to pull the plug already.

Tears streamed down her face. It had all just been a dream—a coma-induced fever dream. And yet, it felt as though it wasn’t. She had been given a second chance.

The next day, still weak but determined, Sarah picked up her phone. Hands trembling, she dialed a number she had long buried in her heart.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end was older, uncertain.

"Dad," she whispered. "I forgive you."

The weight lifted, and for the first time in her life, Sarah felt free. She was going to call her mother next.

Days later, she sat in her living room, Bible open on her lap. She had read about grace and forgiveness countless times, but now the words burned with fresh significance. She called her pastor, sharing the revelation that had shaken her to her core. He listened and then said, "God's mercy is new every morning, Sarah. What will you do with yours?"

Sarah knew the answer. She began reaching out—to her estranged relatives, to old friends she had held grudges against, to anyone she had ever wronged or had wronged her. It was a slow process, but each conversation, each moment of reconciliation, chipped away at the walls she had built around her heart.

One evening, she received a call from her father. He was crying. "I never thought I'd hear from you again," he admitted. "I... I’m sorry."

Sarah smiled through her own tears. "I know, Dad. And I forgive you."

Months passed, and Sarah felt like a different person. She started volunteering at her church’s outreach ministry, counseling others who struggled with forgiveness. Her testimony became a beacon of hope. One Sunday, as she stood in church, hands raised in worship, she felt a deep sense of peace. She had once been bound by chains of resentment, but now she was free.

Looking up, she whispered, "Thank you, Lord, for another chance."

As she continued to grow in her faith, Sarah found new purpose. She began speaking at conferences, sharing her testimony of how God had delivered her from the prison of unforgiveness. Her story resonated with many, and lives were changed. She found joy in seeing others embrace the freedom she had found, realizing that her second chance was not just for her—but for others to experience healing as well.