The day I was born, and the day I died (Part 1)

I was born 42 years ago today; 17 years after that, I died.  This is how it happened.

I sat alone in my dark room feeling guilty, a guilt I couldn't shake or take.  What had I done?  Sin.  Most horrible.  I worshiped her instead of Him.  I felt dead; I felt like dying.  What I wanted to happen would soon, but not in the way I thought.  Beyond thought or reason, based in intuition, based in what I'd heard in church but didn't know I remembered, I said these words out loud:

"I believe Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and that He died for my sins."

Peace covered me like a blanket.
I no longer wanted to die.
But I did die.  I just didn't know it yet.

The me that sat in that dark room guilty of sin died with my confession.  My spirit was placed at the scene of an execution, The Execution:  Christ's Crucifixion.

When He died, I died.

I died to this world, this existence.
My old life.
My old self.

I was unplugged from the Matrix.
My life would never be the same, because it was no longer my life.

Click here for part 2.