Journal Entry: The Last Trumpet

It’s late at night. I’m fast asleep, wrapped in the comfort of my temporary existence. Then, the sound pierces the silence—the last trumpet. Everything fades. My pleasures, my idols, the things I held so dearly—all gone. Now, it’s just me, standing before the throne of the Almighty, the One I claimed to serve.

I search for words, excuses, something to justify my life. "But I was a good person. I didn’t sin that much. I called myself a Christian!" But deep down, I know the truth. It was never about good works; it was about surrender. It was about knowing Jesus, not just by name, but as Lord of my life.

How many times was I warned? How many times did I hear that He was returning, but I brushed it off, thinking there was still time? I ignored the urgency, thinking holiness could wait while I chased the world. But now, time has run out.

God was patient, calling me every day. His mercy stretched out like an open hand, waiting for me to grab hold, but I was too distracted. Too concerned with fitting in. Too blind to see that fun was leading me to flames.

But tonight, I am still here. There is still breath in my lungs. God is still calling. His patience has not yet expired. So, will I keep pretending, or will I surrender? Because the trumpet will sound, and when it does, I don’t want to be standing empty before my Maker. I want to be found faithful.

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