SAINT EUPHEMIA
It was a clear morning. There was a sweet smell in the air. The guards marched me, from out of my cell, into the pit. The crowd roared. Their faces filled with scorn. The angry masses were jeering. They were pointing. They were throwing half-eaten food, fruit, rocks, and whatever they could.
But I was the happiest person there.
It was to be my execution, but, to me, it was my escape, my passage. I would be with Jesus. I was a supplicant, divine to the core.
I tossed my head back. I looked to the sky. My eyes set upwards, I could see angels hanging and flying above the arena. The chubby little angels were spirits of dead children, taken by plague. They’d accepted Jesus and gained entry into His Kingdom.
With ruby red cheeks and open arms, they awaited me, they called to me. One started strumming a small harp. Another danced and zipped playfully about the sky.
There was not a cloud in the sky. And from behind the little beautiful children, the angels, I could see Him. I could see Jesus, my Savior. His arms were outstretched, as they were on the cross. His arms were outstretched, in love, in kindness, in forgiveness. A golden aura silhouetted Him, and His long brown hair and white robes ruffled softly in the breeze. His guiding smile was my beacon. He was my light. The vision of His figure cut into the blue sky filled me with warmth and calm.
I was tied to a wooden post. The ropes were strung so tight that my limbs went numb. My blood ceased to flow freely to my limbs, and it rushed to my head. I was dizzy. But I wasn’t scared. Because I knew in my heart that Jesus was watching. I knew I would be rewarded for my deeds. Jesus’s love was my sentinel. His love was my strength.
The beasts were let loose. Two lions, faces full of fangs. The beasts were surging toward me. One roared a deafening howl that shook my bones with the heavy power of its sound.
But I did not fear them. I feared no man. Nor did I fear any beast. I welcomed them. Their roar was a trumpet blasting from an angel. Their wide mouths of jagged teeth, sharper than knives, would bring me to God. They would send me to Jesus. They were my chariot.
I felt no fear in that valley of death. I set my soft eyes on the beasts and turned my lips to a smile, beaming my light, offering my sacrifice, offering my soul, dying for man’s sins as my Lord and Savior Jesus had done for me.
To my surprise, the beasts felt my love, halted at my feet and sniffed me, drank in my scent and licked me up and down, like friendly dogs, and curled at my feet.
The crowd noise, which had been nearly as deafening as the lion’s howl, ceased, hushed into an uncomfortable silence. There were murmurs. Looking back up to the sky, I saw the angels and Jesus laughing hysterically, pointing and motioning me upward, waving their hands at me to send my soul.
It was at this juncture that the crowd erupted again. A centurion, in armor, hoisting a long sword, came stalking my way. I could hear his heavy armor clinking, rattling as he approached. Then I smiled at him too, and he raised, pointed his sword, angling it at my chest. I called for him to cut my throat because I knew that would unloose my soul faster.
Silently, I tossed my head back and said a final prayer. It was the happiest I’d ever been.
