Between Breath and Eternity: The Moment I Forgot God

Between breath and eternity

It started like a strange kind of fire.

Not the external kind that crackles and glows, but an internal burn that crept up from my stomach to my chest and straight into my throat. It was 4 AM on a Saturday. Quiet. Dark. No traffic. No noise. Just me, waking up to a body that suddenly didn’t feel like mine. My breathing changed. Suddenly. Sharply. I couldn’t catch air the way I usually did. I sat up. Tried to speak. Nothing came out. My body panicked, but my mind hadn’t caught up yet. All I knew was: I was choking. Alone. In silence.

I staggered. Hands on my knees. Mouth open. But the air I was pulling in wasn’t going where it should. My chest burned like it was filled with acid. My throat tightened. I couldn’t lie down. I couldn’t stand still. I walked around helplessly, trying to escape my own body. Then the tears came. Not from emotion. From the sheer terror of not being able to breathe.

And in that terrifying, breathless moment, I didn’t pray.

Not one word. Not even a whisper of “Jesus, help me.”

Not because I don’t love God. Not because I stopped believing. But because I didn’t think of Him.

It’s now 7:30 AM on a Monday. I’m still alive. Still breathing. But the weight of that night won’t leave me. I’m writing this not because I have answers, but because I’m still shaken. Still sitting with the realization that I could have died in that moment, and I didn’t even reach for God.

After the episode passed, after the burning eased and I could breathe again, I learned it was acid reflux, or GERD, or some mix of stress and inflammation. Manageable, thankfully. But what if it wasn’t?

What if that was my last moment on earth? What if that silent, choking struggle was the end? What if I slipped from breath into eternity without a single thought of repentance? Without whispering “forgive me” or “Jesus, I’m sorry” or even “Lord, have mercy”?

The thought horrifies me.

It isn’t the fear of death that shocks me. It is the realization that I could be so close to crossing over, and my heart isn’t even reaching for the One who gives it breath.

We always assume we’ll have time. That when the end comes, we’ll know. That we’ll be ready. That we’ll say all the right things.

But what if the end comes quietly? What if it creeps in like a whisper and finds us on spiritual autopilot?

That night changed me. Or at least, it cracked something open in me.

I realize that I have gotten too comfortable. Too confident in tomorrow. Too casual with eternity. I pray when I feel like it. I repent when it is convenient. I assume grace would always wait for me to catch up.

But what if grace is waiting… and I never turn back?

This post isn’t a warning out of fear. It’s a plea born from awakening.

Please, don’t live like breath is guaranteed. Don’t wait for the calm to speak to God. Don’t assume your soul will know what to do in the final moment.

Ask yourself honestly, Have I been putting off repentance? Have I silenced the whisper of conviction? Have I made peace with my sins because I think there’s still time?

Let this be a wake-up call. Not just for me. For you. For anyone living like there’s still time.

Because in the space between breath and eternity, nothing else matters but the state of your soul.

So now, I pray a little differently. I asked a little sooner. I reach a little faster.

And this morning, I whisper this:

Lord, have mercy on me. Not just when I remember you, but even when I forget. Make my heart always inclined toward You. Prepare me, even when I feel strong. Forgive me, even before I fall. Let me never be spiritually silent again.

Amen.