By Juliana March Mendoza
“How did you become a pastor?”
This question brings back the memories
of the most horrible dream I had.
Writhing in pain. Face scrunching in
agony. Limbs sore and tired.A painful death. All
of them seemed real. Everything fades to black.
Then, I see things from above. My surroundings
turn white. It’s endless. All are clouds, mists and
quietness. I see the trees, the animals, my loved
ones. I am dead. Something roughly pulls me
down, down below despite all the pleas and the
protests.
“Please, please! No, no, no!” The last
word is drowned out by the louder shouts below.
I fall to the bottom. Heat and a sudden strong
burning sensation is all I feel. Fiery, dark and
endless, the place was populated. Piercing
screams from the suffering souls are everywhere.
Pleas for help, comfort, and salvation echo.
Thousands are clawing their way out. Amidst
these screams of pain and resistance, I feel
something painfully hot sear my back. I turn
around and see a man with blazing eyes and a
malicious grin holding a whip of fire. I take two
steps backward and run. When I look back, he is
lost in the sea of people. There are ones kneeling,
pleading, crying out in pain but no one pays
them a second glance. Violent fights are
everywhere, people are gnashing their teeth
complaining, restraining from whips, ropes and
grasps. Shouts are getting louder every minute. I
see a person, probably middle aged with scars all
over his body. He wasn’t screaming, wasn’t
complaining. No reaction at all. He was
wandering around, his left hand over his shaved
head. His mouth was moving, muttering
unintelligible words, his other hand shaking. His
face suffered from bruises and his eyes were
quite still, focused only on one direction. I
approached him, and only then did he stop
walking. He suspiciously squinted his eyes at me.
“Um, I wanted to know what this place
is,” I say.
He raised his eyebrows at me in question
and gestured around him. “This? This?” He
laughed maniacally, and the grin was back.
“You know what this is? Well,
THIS.THIS. IS. HELL!” he shouted every word
with such force.
“ And how do people get here?” I asked.
“When all they do in their lives is have
fun, and not committing their lives to God,” he
folded his arms and stared at me.
“ How did you get here?” he frowned his
eyebrows.
“ I honestly don’t know. May be because
I’ve always been doing what you just said. Have
fun and no care.”
The shouts were dangerously louder now,
and an alarming sound keeps playing over and
over. I woke up, my head wet with sweat. My
alarm clock was blaring loudly. I am so thankful
it’s just a dream. I also realize how I needed to
change.
It’s been a year and that dream was the
reason why I’ve become what I am today. A
pastor. A changed person and it did not have
happened if I hadn’t visited the world of endless
pain.