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I lay on the bed looking up at the ceiling. My body was breaking down and my minutes were being counted. The person sitting in the chair next to my bed squeezed my hand. I looked down; my hand’s smooth skin indicated I had not yet reached the old age, but I knew I was not going to make it past this day.

                Closing my eyes I thought back to the first days I met my two closest companions. I was young, and having been a mischevous child I met Lucy first. Teaching me her ways, Lucy led me on adventures we both knew were wrong and occasionally dangerous, but they were exciting. She was what I considered my first real friend. We grew up together, moving from rascals to trouble makers in our teen years. We explored the worlds of drugs, drinking, parties, and sex, not caring what happened to us or others.

                After a few rough years, hundreds of parties and hook-ups, and some night spent in jail, I was doubting Lucy’s way of life. I was getting weary of her constant trouble and what was almost an addiction to it.

                Without telling Lucy, I would go out on Sunday mornings to a small church we’d vandalized as teens. Over the weeks, Lucy didn’t know I was often visiting a church, or about the man, Chris, who was becoming my friend and greeted me with every Sunday I attended.

                She became suspicious of me soon enough, though. I began to decline the parties and alcohol Lucy pushed at me. With every no she became more angry and desperate.

                With Lucy pressuring me more often, Chris was becoming  my ‘go-to’ person to talk with and release when Lucy was raging and uncontrolable.

                The day I left Lucy, I felt a fresh warmth inside. Chris was the best friend I thought Lucy would always be, only better. He showed me a straight path and was always there. For the first time in my life I felt whole and at peace. Chris helped me come over my addictions to Lucy’s poisons and taught me about the Father I never knew about.

                I devoted my life to the Bible’s words and was baptized with Chris at my side.

                Many years later, wonderful years spent with Chris and the church, I came across a demon of my past. Lucy greeted me with excitement and a sort of desperation. She invited me to a drink, to catch up, she said. I declined, replying that I didn’t drink anymore. She insisted and pleaded intil I gave in repeating, “Just one.”

                One turned into three and three turned into six. I found Lucy and her old poisonous friend were very hard to deny with each “How about one more?”

                Eventually I knew I had to stop. I told Lucy Chris was going to be waiting for me at the church and she bristled at the words. Accusing me of giving her up, my old best friend, for the church, she cursed viciously and seemed almost inhuman as she stormed out of the bar, yelling that she’d have me to herself one day.

                Very stricken by the outburst, I unsteadily drove to the church. My unfocused eyes missed the stop sign and I heard the crunch of metal before I realized what was happening. My car was rolling and I felt myself breaking beyond repair.

                Lord, I thought as I lay mangled and crying, I’m sorry for letting Lucy influence me into this horrible state. Please forgive me.

                The accident was three days ago. I had run a stop sign and caused the oncoming traffic to swerve and drove myself over a ledge down a hill. I lay in the hospital bed, bandaged and guilt ridden, losing my life with each passing hour.

                Lucy’s battle in her opinion was won. She thought she’d had the last of me, when that car flipped due to my lack of self control and her persuasive words. But Chris had found me and was now sitting next to me, holding my hand. He told me I was going to be okay, and I believed him, even as both of us knew this was my last day in this world.

                We prayed and laughed, and spent the last hour talking about the Bible. When what I knew was my last minute came, I turned to Chris, squeezing his hand.

                He smiled. “Time to come home.”

                The nurse walked in carrying a lunch tray to see the patient close her eyes. A Bible was clutched in one hand and the other hand was resting on her chest. She wore content smile, which faded as she left with her Maker.