Saved By Grace- Episode 8

Episode 8- I Choose Jesus- I Will Not Renounce Jesus

AKILAHYEL

When I wake up this time, it is not with a shout. It is with a lot of weight.

My chest feels tight, like something heavy is sitting on it. My shirt is damp against my back. Sweat trickles down my temple into my ear. For a few seconds, I do not move. I just lie there staring into the darkness, trying to separate dream from memory.

The ceiling fan hums quietly above me.

The house is still.

But my heart is racing like I just finished a ten-kilometre drill.

I close my eyes again, hoping that sleep will take me back under but gently this time. It does not. The images replay whether I want them to or not.

It is a man. A very strong man–Dark-skinned, broad-shouldered, dressed in simple northern attire, lying face down on a dusty ground.

His fingers are twitching against the earth.

There is blood. Too much blood.

It spreads slowly into the red soil like it belongs there.

The sun above is cruel, harsh and unforgiving.

A young boy stands over him.

The boy is barefoot with dust clinging to his legs.

He is shaking.

His small hands are grabbing at the man’s shoulder, trying to turn him over.

“Baba,” the boy cries, voice breaking into pieces. “Baba, please get up. Please wake up.”

The man does not move and the boy’s cries grow louder and desperate.

He is screaming now.

“Baba! Baba!! Please!!!”

The air in the dream feels thick, like it refuses to carry sound away.

The boy’s hands become stained but he does not notice. He keeps shaking the body.

The ground feels endless and empty.

There is no help nor any one to rescue them.

It is just the sound of a child watching his world collapse.

Suddenly the dust dissolves and suddenly there is a lonely path that feels very cold. Extremely cold.

The kind of cold that creeps into bone.

The path stretches ahead into mist.

The father of the boy is seen walking steadily ahead on that path. The boy can see his father’s back

“Baba!” the boy shouts.

His voice cracks and he begins to run.

“Baba please wait! Baba, come back!”

But the man does not turn.

He keeps walking and as he walks, his voice carries through the mist.

“I choose Jesus.” He keeps repeating it over and over again.

“I choose Jesus. I will not renounce Jesus.”

His voice does not tremble. He sounds very confident and happy.

“I choose Jesus.”

The boy is crying now.

He is crying like something inside him is tearing.

“Baba please,” he whispers. “Come back.”

He stretches his hand forward. He is almost touching the man but the father keeps walking.

“I choose Jesus.”

The mist thickens the more and the cold gets sharper.

“I choose Jesus.”

The boy reaches again.

Just one more step.

Just one more and before his fingers can make contact…..the man disappears into the mist.

I wake up.

The room is dark.

But I feel like I am still inside that cold path.

My throat is tight and my eyes burn, but no tears fall.

They stopped falling years ago.

I sit there for a long time trying to anchor myself back into the present.

The dream has visited me many times before.

In the early years after his death, it came almost every night.

I used to wake up shouting and sweating. I used to wake up very angry and shaken.

When I rededicated my life properly to God, I prayed often and my pastor and counselor then taught me to rebuke the dreams afterwards. The dreams stopped coming after a while. It’s been years of not having that dream.

So why now?

Why tonight?

I swallow hard and sit up.

Tonight it felt too fresh.

I drag my palm down my face and reach for my phone on the bedside table. The screen lights up the room in a pale glow. 2:47 a.m.

My thumb hovers over a name before I can stop myself.

Almeera.

For a moment, I almost dial her number.

She would understand without too many words. She always did. Days like today where I was too weak to pray, she used to pray for me and I’ll sleep well afterwards. But she is married now. We live completely different lives right now.

I lock the phone and drop it back on the table.

I will not disturb her.

I lean forward, elbows on my knees, hands clasped loosely. My voice when I speak is quiet, almost uncertain.

“God… I don’t know why this is back.”

“I am tired of seeing it like that. If there is something you are trying to heal, then heal it. But please… I want to rest.”

I lie back down again but sleep does not return.

I turn from one side to the other. The pillow grows warm as my mind refuses to quiet. Every time I drift slightly, the lonely path appears again and I jerk awake before it forms fully.

By the time dawn begins to stretch faint light across my curtains, I have not slept again.

My phone vibrates suddenly against the wooden table.

The sound makes me jump.

I pick it up checking the caller first.

Almeera.

For a second, I just stare at her name.

Then I answer.

“Hello.”

My voice sounds rough.

“Akila,” she says softly.

She is the only person who says my name like that.

“How are you? I was praying this morning,” she continues, “and your name just dropped in my spirit heavily. I don’t know how to explain it. Are you okay?”

I sit up straighter.

“I’m fine,” I reply too quickly.

There is a small silence on the line.

She knows that tone.

“You don’t sound fine,” she says quietly. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” I insist, dragging my palm down my face. “Its just… work stress. I guess.”

“I had a strange feeling in my spirit,” she says. “I just thought to call and check up on you.”

My throat tightens as I exhale slowly.

“I had the dream again,” I admit finally. “The one about my dad.”

Her inhale is soft but audible. “Oh.”

“When was the last time you had it like that?” she asks gently.

“A long time ago.” I swallow.

“Meera, this time, It felt real.” I say, flashes of the dream coming back.

“Akila… you don’t have to carry everything alone.” she says softly.

I almost laugh.

“That is literally my job description.”

She ignores me.

“Have you been resting?”

“Yes I have.”

“How about prayers? How has your study life been too?”

“It’s been fine..”

“Hmmmm. Are you sure?”

I do not answer immediately.

She continues softly, “You have been strong for so long. But strength is not the same thing as healing, Akila.”

“Your prayer and study life plays a huge role in your healing. Don’t serve God just by going to church. Build a deep and intentional relationship with him. Give him full access to your life.”

My jaw tightens.

“I’m fine, Meera,” I say, weaker this time.

She does not argue with me, instead, her voice shifts.

“Can I pray for you?”

My chest constricts. I really need it.

“Yes,” I say.

Her voice comes out steady, in a way that makes something inside me tremble.

“Father, I lift Akila before you this morning. You see what he carries. You see the places that are still wounded. I ask that You open his heart fully to healing. Remove every root of trauma, every unresolved grief, every silent pain he refuses to speak about. Replace it with your peace, oh God.”

My vision blurs and I blink hard.

“Lord, You were there that day. You saw everything. You held his father. You held him too. Remind him that you have never left. Work on him completely. Not halfway, not surface-level but completely and wholly.”

My breathing becomes uneven as the tears struggle to escape my eyes.

I turn my face away from the window as if someone can see me.

“Let him know he is allowed to rest. Please remind him that he is permitted to heal. Teach him to be vulnerable before you. Cover him by your blood and guard his mind and his heart.”

My body shakes slightly as tears pour out in torrents.

I press my free hand hard against my chest, trying to steady myself.

She finishes softly, “In Jesus’ name.”

“Amen,” my voice is barely a whisper.

There is silence for a few seconds as I try to regain my composure.

“Thank you,” I say after a while.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

We both know there are a hundred things unsaid between us. I want to tell her how much I miss her, how much I want to see her. But neither of us crosses that line.

“Take care of yourself,” she says.

“You too.”

As the call ends, I lower the phone slowly.

My eyes are wet and I wipe them quickly.

I lean back against the wall and close my eyes.

The ache is still there, but it feels less violent and suffocating.

I decide I will stay home today.

I have leave accumulated. I can take one day off. Clear my head, pray and rest properly.

My phone vibrates again before I can settle into that thought.

This time it is from the office.

I stare at the screen for a moment before answering.

“Captain,” the voice on the other end says briskly, “there has been an escalation regarding last night’s breach. We need you on ground immediately.”

My jaw tightens.

“I thought deployment was already in motion.”

“It is. But intelligence just updated and tou’re required here.”

“I’ll be there,” I say.

The line disconnects and I sit still for a few seconds longer.

So much for rest.

I swing my legs off the bed and stand.

The mirror reflects a man who looks older than he did yesterday.

I step into the bathroom and turn on the shower. Cold water hits my skin and shocks me fully awake. By the time I dress into my uniform, the familiar weight of it settles over me like armor.

Emotions fold neatly into compartments.

I glance once at my phone and I text Naya that I have to be at work urgently.

I step out of the house quietly so I do not wake her up.

The air outside is cool.

As I drive toward the office, I tell myself the same thing I have told myself for nine years.

There will be time to heal.

Just not today. Today, there is work.

Hi babiessssss….

This is a bonus chapter to thank you all for being here🥹🥹

This episode was to show a glimpse into Akila’s struggles.

We will dive deeper into it as we progress. I pray I am able to express his struggles well and depict the trauma he experienced.

See you all on Friday💃