Jonathon | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Jonathon | Previous Challenge Entry
By Lisa Stephens
07/15/06
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I think my heart’s breaking in two. The rain’s pouring down on me, soaking me. Buckets of rain, like it’s never rained before. I think it must be God crying. God’s crying and can’t stop. He’s crying for all the lost souls, and he’s crying for me. I’m sitting in the middle of the graveyard, kneeling in front of Jonathon’s grave, sobbing. Jonathon died three days ago, and his funeral was today. He was my best friend, and I don’t know if I can live without him. I know he was a Christian, that he’s in heaven now, dancing with angels and singing God’s praises. I know that he’s in paradise. The problem is that I’m not. The problem is that I’m still stuck on earth, and his soul’s in heaven.

“God, I know you took him for a reason,” I scream at the skies, “I know that it was your will, but what about me? I still need him, God, I still need him!”

God doesn’t seem to care that my heart’s breaking. A bolt of lightning flashes, lighting up the sky. I think that I must look strange, kneeling in a graveyard during a thunderstorm. I’m just glad that nobody’s around to see. I remember the night he died. Around midnight I got the call. It was Jonathon. He asked me to go pick him up, and mentioned his stomach hurting. He gave me the address of the place he was at.

I was surprised, because when I got there he was sitting on the front steps of a house that looked like it was having a drinking party. He stood up and got in, shotgun.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him.

He told me he didn’t know, and said his stomach hurt really bad. Then he looked me in the eyes and said,

“Betsy, I want you to know, whatever happens, God loves you. I love you, too, You’re like a sister to me. When I die, I want you to know, I’m going to be with God. Don’t worry about me. Now I want you to take me to the hospital, I think someone drugged my sprite.”

I drove faster than I’ve ever driven before, and probably faster than I ever will again. Rushed him into the ER. He explained the situation to the nurse, and they took him away. Two hours later, a doctor came out and told me that Jonathon had died.

So now I’m crushed. My spirit feels like someone stabbed it through with a knife. Jonathon shouldn’t have had to die that way. I wipe the tears from my eyes, a useless gesture, because they are readily replaced by new ones.

“Oh God,” I whisper, and I don’t even know why I’m whispering, “I can’t stand losing Jonathon, I think my heart’s broken. But I know you have a purpose in this, and I know you can heal my soul.”

I stand up and start walking home. My heart’s still breaking in two, but I feel a little better.

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