I’m floating. I don’t know where I’m going or what will come of it; I am simply floating. Perched on an old rotting board in the middle of the great ocean, I am oddly peaceful. My plain white t-shirt is dirty and full of holes, as are my tattered white sweats. I wrap my arms around me legs and rest my right cheek on my knees. The smell of salt is just noticeable. My hair is long and matted, whipping around me as it takes to the wind. The vast waters beneath me are still, serene; while the air above is pulsing with life, flying by without a care. I see nothing but fog for miles on end. All of a sudden I am pulled from my board and into the freezing waters below. As I sink below, my insides scream for relief, but my body does nothing. Swim! Get out! I scream internally, wishing my body to move. As my eyes began to close, I felt someone, or something, pull me out of the water and onto the shore. I opened my eyes, but no one was there. I wondered to myself, Who would save ME?

I was dying, He gave me life. I was giving up; He gave my inspiration to go on. I was drowning; He pulled me out of the water. He saved me. He loves me; He made me.