Today's sermon at GVCC was called "Sweet Jesus?". I thought it was very deep and thought provoking, and completely different than anything I had listened to before. Many times people only think of Jesus as a teddy bear sort of person, but in the end times he tramples those against him like grapes in a winepress.

After evening service, I went to the ARC to play basketball and work out. Basketball was with a lot of huge guys, so it was pretty good practice. A lot of games later, I went to the weight room.

Usually I don't use the actual bar to "lift". Instead I use the machines that simulate bench pressing while you're sitting upright. Even though I didn't have a spotter, I decided to try the bench for the first time. I put on a 45lb on each side, and tried it out. It was easy as pie.

"Greato!", I thought to myself, "I can do much more than this!"

I got up and proudly looked for more weights to add on. The smaller weights looked really dinky and insignificant compared to the 45 pounders. The 25lb looked just the right size, so I threw one of those on each side. I got onto the bench, took a deep breath, and then lifted it up.

Boy was bringing the bar down easy. Too bad it wasn't so easy on the way up.

I pushed with all my strength, and began to think I had done it. When the bar was about halfway to the top, I discovered that I couldn't lift it any higher. For what seemed like forever, the bar and I were locked in a stalemate.

"Not good..." I thought to myself.

I decided to bring the thing back down to my chest, thinking that maybe if I rested a bit I could lift it up. Too bad I didn't realize there was a place halfway up the bench I could've put the bar on. Now that the bar was on my chest, there was no longer any hope for me.

At that point, I pretty much realized I was in a bad situation. I figured I had three options.

1. Start screaming.
2. Tilt the bar to the side and throw it off me that way.
3. Stay on the brink of death, hoping that some good samaritan would see me in distress.

Option 1 just didn't seem like a good option at the time. If I chose 2, the weights would slide off the bar and slam into the ground. The employees there would probably tie me up, take me to a back room and flog me.

I chose option 3.

My face was getting red, and I desperately tilted my head and scanned the room. God decided to have mercy on me. Some incredibly nice Mr. Universe on the other side of the weight room saw me. We made eye contact and I confirmed to him that I was dying. He ran over to me and saved my life.

Thank you God, for letting me live.