Jesus’ hand pressed on my chest.
I woke and made eye contact.
Sweat saturated my neck and shoulders.
He performed CPR.
The breath of life at all angles.
“Listen, are you listening?”
I nodded.
“You aren’t dying.
Your heart is strong.
This deep press on your heart
is waiting for a response.
I am acquainted with grief.
I am a man of sorrows.”
I could feel heat in my eyes.
“I wept
over Jerusalem
over Lazarus.”
I blinked tears that burned down.
“Things do get complicated
and the sorting out and attempts
of nailing those things down wearies you.”
I looked away.
“They tried to nail me down too.
I was too complicated.
I still Am to many.
Even you try to secure Me with nails.”
Eye contact.
“Yes, even now you try to manage Me.
You aren’t the only one.
But you are the one I am talking to now.”
His hand kept pressing in intervals
and pushed blood through the chambers.
“I am.”
I nodded.
“I Am.”
Tears flowed unhindered
and drenched His hand
while the compressions continued.
I so wanted to nail His hand
to my heart.
Return of the Prodigal by Rembrant
Gerald the Writer 
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