Imagine it were your last day on Earth… What would you do?

It was the 19^th of March, 2020.

The handyman was a few metres away from me, fixing my blinds.

And that was when I said it: “I feel like I’m going to die soon.”

It was the weirdest thing.

I felt overwhelmed by a very uncanny premonition. I had never before experienced anything like it.

I had not long quit my job. It was the right decision.

Despite all the uncertainty around me, I was covered by an indescribable peace.

I also felt weirdly unbothered about the future. Not worried at all. Just knew that everything was going to work out right – even though it was a very strange time to be so certain about that.

And then came this weird sensation. I felt a presence around me, thick in the air.

And I said out loud: “I feel like I’m gonna die soon.”

I knew it was weird. I felt weird and the sentence I had strung together sounded very strange to me. I apologised to the handyman, whom I had been chatting with on and off as I went about my business and he did his work. And I walked out of the room.

And I had a chat with God. Not out loud, I don’t think it was. And I started to cry.

I felt from that moment that I was going to come very close to death, very soon.

I had no idea what was going to come next.

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After the handyman left, I went out to the corner shop to get some milk. I am a careful driver anyway, but I all of a sudden felt extremely cautious as I steered through the neighbouring roads. I thought, Perhaps someone is going to knock me over in their car?

There were actually a few moments on the journey there and back that car drivers nearly did not see me, but driving is a risky business, and I have actually been in much closer near-death experiences on the road and on the motorway. I figured I wasn’t going to die in a car accident around my house as I got my milk after all.

But as I walked to my car after purchasing my blue bottle, I started to feel very odd. Dozy. Dizzy. Bit out of it. I thought that was strange, but this was a day on which I had quit my job and had become overcome with the presentiment of dying soon, so that didn’t seem like the strangest thing to happen in the last few hours.

In the three minutes that followed, I realised I was probably quite ill. I began to feel extremely dizzy, and climbed into bed not long after. In the time I was between the covers, my temperature soared blindingly quickly. Before I knew it, even in my light clothing, I was dripping with sweat.

Ah, I thought. I probably have the coronavirus.

This wasn’t such an unlikely possibility, considering two colleagues at my workplace had been sent home the week prior, with suspected coronavirus, and I had sat next to one of them a few days before that, training her on something. I didn’t know at the time that she had contracted the virus. Neither did she.

I didn’t worry, despite the likelihood. I just went to the NHS website and checked to see what I should be doing to combat the virus, and to verify that the symptoms I was experiencing were indeed related to Covid-19.

It was then that I discovered that I was actually now in the high-risk category. As someone that already has an existing long-term condition, I was more likely to suffer seriously from Covid-19.

Ah well, I discovered that a bit late! I had been taking sensible precautions: washing my hands for 20 seconds and standing far enough apart from people, as we had all been advised to do, but before now, the guidelines had been different, and I hadn’t seen myself as at any especial risk.

Looking back now… I realise that I had not factored into the equation an infection that specialists have been trying to help me fight for months – which is still being treated.  A later discovery revealed that I had also probably been carrying and living with another serious infection for about a month before I even contracted Covid-19. So, these things in addition to the long-term condition I already have, meant my body was not ready to handle a virus of this magnitude.

It didn’t take long for me to realise that the presentiment I had sensed was probably to do with Covid-19.

Over the next few hours, I did everything I could to try and alleviate my pain, which was immense. Consider that I already live with chronic pain. This virus made everything about 100x worse. That is no exaggeration.

In those hours, I had a long chat with God. And I cried, a lot. 

I eventually came to a place where I had accepted that I was going to die soon. The sadness only came from thinking of my young brothers and my mum, whom I would leave behind. The peace came from knowing that I knew where I would go, and that I would be reunited with family and friends who had died, and see my Heavenly Father, Jesus and the Holy Spirit – the Triune God - face to face, and LIVE WITH NO PAIN!!

The next few days are a bit of a blur. Everything happened so quickly.

Although my temperature did not remain at an all-time high all the time, other symptoms quickly appeared and started to get in the driving seat of my body. Within a few hours of me realising I had contracted the virus, my breathing started to get more and more laboured. My spine hurt. It felt as though the virus had taken over my air passageway, and was creeping further and further down my spinal cord.

I only told a few people at first. I didn’t want people to worry. I later changed my mind: the thought that people might not be taking the government guidelines seriously – and could potentially be spreading this deadly virus around – filled me with horror.

As the illness quickened its takeover of my body, I made sure to reply to every open message I could see, and tell everyone I was in contact with that I loved them. Not that saying "Love you" is at all uncommon for me; the frequency and urgency just increased. It may not have made much sense to my friends and family at the time.

 As the day wore on, though my symptoms got worse and worse, I had resolved with myself not to call the ambulance. After all, I believed that my time was coming, so didn’t see how calling the ambulance would help or change anything. I also firmly believed that it was much more important for someone that didn’t know Jesus to go to the hospital to get help to stay alive, than it was for me.

I should explain some things about myself. I have seen a lot of death, come very close to me, since the age of ten. My own father passed away when I was thirteen, and I have continued to be very close to a lot of people dying. For a number of years, I have been ever-aware of my mortality, and thus, it is an entirely normal thing for me to think, as I prepare for bed,

“What would people say about me if I were to die tomorrow?” 

Some people die – and the people with whom they interacted have very little good to say about them. I don’t want to be one of those people. I want to be someone who people remember as having loved well, laughed hard and made the world a better place, just by being herself. And the person that enables me to do that is God. Well, God in three Persons.

It is because of my relationship with Jesus Christ that I felt this indescribable peace as my breathing progressively deteriorated. It is also because of Jesus, that in this time, I started frantically rushing around to tell people about Jesus.

You see, when you are so ill and have already had a premonition that you are going to die soon, a few things become blindingly clear. I became impressed with an impervious sense of urgency.

It may seem crazy to you, but as my temperature soared and my face turned red and sweat dripped down my face – my overwhelming concern was that the neighbours in my building that I had not yet spoken to, needed to know about Jesus. I knew Him, and knew that if I were to die, I would be with Him. But I could not be sure that I had given them the answer that would make a way for them to know the peace that surpasses all understanding.

So at a time when most “normal” people would ring the ambulance, I spent time composing this, and placed it on the entrance to my building. I was literally gasping for air as I wrote this, and my temperature was probably at around 42 degrees Celsius, at a guess. My handwriting kind of shows that I was feverish.

Although in my head I had decided I would not ring the emergency services, late that night it became clear that the situation had gotten a lot worse – and my supposed impending death was taking a lot longer than I had foreseen. Where I had imagined I would die peacefully in my sleep, I found I was in so much pain that I could not sleep, and that my struggle breathing made the lying awake even more unpleasant. If my death was going to come, I would rather have some help in feeling less agony when it did take place! So I asked my friend to ring the ambulance for me: remember, I no longer had a voice.

That night, the emergency services were exceedingly busy, as you can imagine. I waited for HOURS. Finally, I accepted that the paramedics were not going to come in time. My breathing was so bad that my friend later told me she thought I was going to die that night. So did I! At one point, it felt as though I had a centimetre left of my air passageway to breathe from. When I tell you, I thought I was minutes away from Heaven, I kid you not.

And then, suddenly, it was as though my lungs slowly started filling with air. I can only describe it as a miracle. I KNOW it was a miracle. There were a lot of people praying with me.

I had two paramedic visits after that incident, and the second paramedic told me that: the way that I had been breathing… it doesn’t get better from there on out. Well, it did! And without help from emergency services – because they hadn’t made it to me yet. So, take from that what you will.

Even though I survived that night, the journey had barely begun. Over the next few days and weeks, I would experience severe pain, feel my body fill up with salt to the extent that I actually had visible salt granules on my tongue… I won’t show you the pictures but my face and lips did turn a combination of blue and purple. NHS clinicians decided that it would be best not to take me into hospital, because my immune system was so weak at that point that I probably would easily have caught something else from other patients that would further worsen my state. I forget that even several weeks on, I am still in recovery: although no longer contagious – my body still hasn’t adjusted from going through that nightmare.

There were points when, though thankful to God for bringing me through, I wondered why He had kept me alive – only for me to live life as a vegetable. I was unable to do the simplest things for myself – and living alone, there was no one else to do them for me (although I did get lots of help from people dropping things off for me that I needed!). There were days that I was so weak that it took me a good two hours to get out of bed to even make myself breakfast! And of course, when your body is fighting infection, you need to eat!

We’re talking about someone that had literally packed up their bags in preparation for Heaven. I didn’t see for a number of days why God hadn’t just let me die. After all, I knew that where I was going there would be no pain! Instead, He had kept me alive (great) to keep me in indescribable pain (not so great). I was definitely not suicidal, but I really struggled to see the point of my life at this point.

That’s when I called on my friends for encouragement. I literally didn’t see what else I had to do here. (Yes, I would have liked to get married and have kids, but I think Heaven is better than all of that, so there.) They helped me get to a turning point where I decided that God still had more plans for me down here – and the crux of that was, I needed to tell more people about this Jesus. The Jesus that does miracles. The Jesus that gives you peace when it doesn’t make sense.

It isn’t a secret that I’m a Jesus follower. Jesus addict, as I like to say. But going through the mill has taken me to a whole new level of telling people about Him! I literally wouldn’t let the paramedics leave until I told them about Jesus, haha!

God gave me a revelation a few years back, which has forever changed the way I see this.

Imagine, you are a seismologist. You study the patterns of the Earth’s vibrations, and help foresee earthquakes so that you can get people to safety before their worlds cave in. Well, the seismologist has information that can save people’s lives! Can you imagine being a seismologist that KNOWS when an earthquake is coming, and knows exactly how far out residents of the affected areas need to be in order to escape its wrath… AND DOESN’T TELL ANYONE?!

I reckon you have a few words for a person like that. “Selfish” would probably be one, right?

Or, here’s a more topical analogy. You are a virologist and have the cure for the coronavirus, but decide you will guard it with your life – only administering the life-saving treatment on yourself and your family, but keeping it a secret from everyone else. Ummmm….

Jesus has changed my life. He has saved me from spiritual death, and now has also given me a new lease of natural life. I can’t think of anything more important to share with you.

Imagine you knew it were your last day on Earth. What would change about your today? Would you love people around you a little more? Would you reverse some decisions you took yesterday?

Would you feel peace because you knew exactly where you were going when your breath expires?

Terrorism: A Threat to Peace Anywhere is A Threat to Peace Everywhere.

I sit here numb and dismayed, writing a day after the attacks in Paris that so far have left 128 dead. Innocent people killed whilst watching a football match in the Stade de France, as two suicide bombers opened fire in a shock that the French nation is struggling to come to terms with. Bombs have been detonated and gunshots fired in six targeted locations around Paris, leaving bodies still in the streets, blood on the pavements, and fear in the hearts of the French people.

Now, I live in France. I’m on my year abroad as part of my studies and am currently residing in Marseille. So I’m far away from where all this happened. My first reaction when I heard the news was shock. The first attack to which my attention was drawn to was the one that took place just outside the national football stadium during a friendly between France and Germany. My first thought was that this had been a carefully planned attack: for suicide bombers to target hordes of innocent people only there to watch a bit of footy with their friends and families must have required serious preparation. I threw my plans to have an early night out of the window and sat attentively in front of the TV, watching the news unfold. As it was revealed that the attacks had taken place on a larger scale, including at a concert hall and cafés and restaurants, my attention immediately turned to my friends: this year many of them are spending their year abroad in Paris. Hearing the gunshots reverberating from the videos and seeing the scale of the disaster, I feared for them. I worried that they might be out on the same streets that were flashing across the plasma screen TV I was watching.

I went to Facebook to check that they were OK. I was relieved to be met by statuses letting me know that certain friends were safe and well, but with every realisation that there was another friend in Paris who hadn’t yet been accounted for, I began to type out frantic messages make sure they were away from the danger.  Gladly within the next hour and a half I heard from them all and was assured that they were safe, breathing a sigh of relief each time I saw that another friend had checked in as ‘safe’ on Facebook. However the extent of the gravity of the situation did really hit home when I read the responses of some of my friends – saying that there were so close that they had even heard the gunshots of the terrorists. My heart went out to them all and in my grieving and shock all I could do was pray for them and for Paris.

Soon everyone was caught up in the drama: those in the UK that initially hadn’t known what was going on started posting statuses encouraging the world to #prayforparis, and rightly condemning the actions of these lost psychotics that had taken so many lives on this Friday 13^th November. I even had people checking to ask if I was OK.

             After the initial shock had worn off and I had the comfort of knowing that all my friends were safe, I couldn’t help but think to myself, This is what people in Syria and Libya go through every day. Just the week before the church school I work at here in Marseille had been visited by the headmaster of the Christian school we’re partnered with and supporting in Libya, called ‘L’Ecole de la Paix’ (The School of Peace). The school had been set up in Tripoli at a time when Libya was in complete ruins: everything had been burned to a pulp; there were no schools; hospitals were damaged, and the city had descended into anarchy. As he spoke, my eyes were opened to the daily reality of living in a country torn apart by war and terror. The children at this school only had 4-hour school days because if they were to set out for home too late there was a high risk that they would be gunned down before they even reached the door-step. The principal of this school himself had been shot and another time confronted at gun-point with his two young children in the car, the oldest of whom is only seven. And all this happening in a country where the police is basically non-existent and crimes cannot be tracked and investigated. I imagined living my childhood in this predicament, finding myself in a daily battle with life and death.

That’s what I find myself thinking of now, the day after the Paris attacks. Terrorism isn’t new. It is a daily reality for many people. We’ve been hearing for years about suicide bombings in Iraq, Afghanistan, Israel, Palestine, Syria, Libya… Why is it when it happens in Paris that we suddenly wake up to the reality and the seriousness of the situation? The news bulletins say it all: France (of course), the UK, the States, everyone’s thinking in blue, white and red.

The last time Paris was attacked was in January. The twelve Charlie Hebdo journalists who were gunned down lost their lives on the same day an estimated 2,000 innocent civilians were massacred by Boko Haram, the Islamist extremist terrorist group, in Baga, Nigeria. I didn’t hear much about the attacks in Baga but I did hear an awful lot about Paris, and saw heads of state sending their condolences to the French capital, whilst the people of Nigeria suffered in silence. Next to no-one was thinking in green, white and green.

Today, in the aftermath of the Paris attacks which have left 128 dead, I have been enveloped by the news updates of the horrific killings that took place yesterday all day.  The French borders have been closed and the leaders of the biggest states in the world have announced their solidarity with France. My Facebook feed is full of friends who have stamped their profile pictures with the French flag to reflect their unity with the people of Paris. 

          I am glad to see this humanity. This shared spirit which cares for the suffering of others and calls our hearts to pray for peace, to the point that even those that typically identify as agnostics or even atheists join in praying for Paris. But I am awakened to the irony of it all: this humanity has been largely dormant when we have seen the news bulletins over the past decade or so alerting us to suicide bomb attacks and terror on the same innocent civilians in Syria, Libya, Egypt, Palestine, Israel, Afghanistan, the list goes on. I too am guilty: I feel a pang of pain and shock when I see these bulletins but after a few moments I continue with my life because I am not affected. My family in Nigeria is far away from where the Boko Haram attacks have been taking place so after a while I’ve developed a sort of mild immunisation even to that.

Paris has stirred me: it has given me an inkling of what it feels like to live in dread that those you love are in danger of dying at the hands of crazed terrorists. It has reminded me that this is only one example of what has been happening for years around the world. It has pointed out a characteristic of our human nature: we pay the most attention to things that directly affect us. It has taken seeing such horror so close to home to realise just how horrible it is.

The attacks in Paris have marked a new turning point: next time I see or hear about terrorist attacks in Syria or Palestine and such countries, I will not listen for a few seconds and then go about my business. I will give them the time they deserve, just as I have spent time following the news of what’s happened in Paris, knowing that they have the same evils in common, all being heinous attacks by misguided individuals on innocent people. I will not satisfy myself with the excuse that I don’t know enough about the crisis in the Middle East to follow what is happening. I will go and educate myself. Murder is horrible, no matter what colour the skin it’s inflicted on and no matter the country.

I’d like to hope that instead of thinking just in blue, white and red we will think in the colours of the world. Facebook’s novel idea to stamp people’s profile pictures with the colours of the République is a great way to show solidarity and support for France, but it leaves untold the stories of the countries that live this terror every day. I’d like to see the defiant stripes of the Syrian, Libyan, Iraqi, Palestinian, Israeli, Lebanese, Nigerian (etc…) flags introduced as stamps for Facebook profile pictures too.

The same humanity that has led me to pray for Paris will urge me to pray for the others.