I'm a lost cause
Baby, don't waste your time on me
I'm so damaged beyond repair
Life has shattered my hopes and my dreams 

‘Save Me’ ; Jelly Roll

    When my father died, I threw my Bible out the window. It scraped against the concrete outside, little shreds of red leather peeled off, sticking to the sidewalk. A child on a tricycle swerved around my once beloved book without even stopping to see what it was. I guess it was common enough to see wailing girls throwing books out windows these days.
   It didn’t matter to me anymore, this silly little thing called life, if one so important to me could be taken without so much as a reason why. Nor did it matter, mind you, where on Earth (or beyond) I’d go afterwards. As I looked out the glass panes to the path just beyond my front lawn, I saw the hundreds of thin neon sticky notes and dog-eared pages fluttering in the breeze from the time that I truly cared about those things. From the time where all I wanted was for my father to care about them too. It had been too late, the lessons I gave him ignored, and now who knew what would happen to the both of us.
   
I closed the heavy curtains, shutting out the light without so much as looking back. 

    Now, I am sitting in this forsaken car. The air reeks of liquor and I’d have a mind to roll down the window and let some air in if not for the remarkable speed we are traveling at. I’m screaming now, pushing through my thick, slurred voice pleading with Jeff to slow down, to take it easy. He doesn’t listen, the lilt in his chuckle and the emptiness of his eyes tells me that he’s worse off then I am. He floors it, speeding even faster than before. The night had been like a date with the devil.  Everything I’d promised I’d never do, every sin I looked down on others for committing, I had done in the span of three hours. I had just told myself I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t even believe me. 
I am pounding on the dash now, though I’m not sure when my brain made that decision.   The car is going too fast, the driver is too drunk, and the intersection is coming up soon. The night sky is flying past the windows, as fleeting as my thoughts, so fast all I see are streams of light from the near and distant cars. For a moment I am transfixed by them, at the beauty of the light dancing in and out of my vision, almost as if we are chasing them. Then, I remember where I am; now two minutes from the intersection that I know will bring me someplace. Someplace I’ll have to own up to the night’s mistakes.

Before I can scream, I am suddenly overtaken. 

The peace settles over me like the settling of snowflakes during an early winter day, and I swear I hear someone. Someone who isn’t the boy I’m in the car with. Someone with a voice it feels like I haven't heard in a long while. One I’ve sorely missed.

He tells me it will all be alright. 
   
Suddenly, as if by some will other than mine, I find myself uttering out a prayer. One from deep within me, in a way I thought I’d almost entirely forgotten how. One I thought I didn’t deserve to be giving. The words pour out of me in a steady stream that most intoxicated people are incapable of even thinking, let alone uttering. Now, it is just me and the words.  
   
Then, as if in response to my pleas, everything stops.

If I was Him, I'd say, "To hell with you, ain't no helping you"
"Find someone else to give Heaven to, I'm telling you"
I'd shame me, I'd blame me
I'd make me pay for my mistakes
But I don't think Jesus does it that way 

‘Don’t Think Jesus’ ; Morgan Wallen  

The noise is gone. I sit up, looking around myself at the white room and bright lights that surround me. For a moment, I think I might be in Heaven, but quickly disregard the notion. I don’t deserve to be there. 
Rather, I’m in a hospital room. Aside from light bruising, there is little evidence of my dangerous escapade the night before. Even Jeff, who had braked swiftly and caused the car to swerve into oncoming traffic, is nearly unscathed. 
A flood of memory rushes through my head; the voice I heard, the peace I felt, the prayer I gave. Suddenly, it’s all clear to me again, a stark contrast to the rest of the events of the night, which seem to be as elusive as the lights we chased in the car. 
As I look to my right, I see something I didn’t realize my heart had been longing for until it burst at the sight of it. My Bible, sitting on the side table, like it had never left my grasp. It's a little bit battered, the spine is  worn from years of use, and the leather scratched and thinning. The pages, well they’re dirty and torn in places. Some of the bookmarks have fallen out, some long studied information forgotten to the wind. But it’s mine. It was lost, and now it’s found. 

I pick it up and read.

Well, the devil can scrap, but the Lord has won
And I'll talk to him on the rising sun
His son rose and mine did too
I was coming down, but now I'm talking to you 

‘Revival’ ; Zach Bryan