Sad Song...........

This is such an amazing truth. This isn't My story just to let everyone know but it is truthfull about all of us. There is something inside of us that make us all do something that we don't want. So read and enjoy the following and if you want to know where I got it, we can talk about it..........

MATTHEW 5:4 Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
And the warm fuzzies kept flowing from Jesus as he continued to charm the crowd. He “encourages” them with, “Blessed are those who mourn.” This is not a shed tear over the loss of a loved one or a job. It is the deep soul-shattering lament over the loss of righteousness, the death of our innocence.

When I was six an East Texas pastor screamed at me from his pulpit, “When you leave this church and head to your car you could die! You could step out in front of a truck and meet Jesus today! And if you’re not a Christian, you’ll go to hell!!” I had no idea the church parking lot could be so dangerous, but I wasn’t taking my chances. I didn’t want some truck sending me to hell. So I walked down the aisle, filled out a 3 X 5 card saying I wanted to be a Christian and felt safer in a world with trucks. Someone gave me a Bible and a lot of old ladies came by afterwards to hug and kiss me, which was a little strange, and then my family took me to Luby’s to have a steak. I got saved, American style.
I put salvation, my life vest, in the closet in case I ever needed it. But when I was 12, it looked like my parents might divorce, I had few friends, I was constantly bullied and perpetually lying to win approval and appear more important or smart than I was. I was looking at pornography with my friends and stealing anything I could sell for money. I was feeling guilty, depressed, thinking about suicide often and getting worse. I felt the water rushing in around my ankles. I struggled against sin’s tide in me. I cried out with Paul, “What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?”(Romans 7:24) And I clung, for the first time, to the cross like it was more than a symbol or a story. I held on like it was air for my suffocating soul, my only hope of staying afloat, of living, because it was. I knew then what I was being saved from: me. He is more than the promise of Heaven in a world of trucks.