I can't imagine the fear; I imagine the pride, to stand up for God, not a tear in your eye. Imagine the words you were asked to say, do you believe in God? These words the question of the day. I honestly cannot say or think of then, would I stand up for Christ, or fall back in sin? What sin you ask, nobody wants to die, if I did not take the bullet, my life is but a lie. To die for Christ is the least you could do, every whip, every drop of blood he spilled for you. Endure what he endured, feel what he felt, a simple bullet through your brain, compared to the anguish he was dealt. Not a soul in the world could stand up and say, 'I am perfect in every single way.' If you could say this, what a civil world it would be, but it was not you or me that died for the world, on that old blood stained tree.
If I was asked those five little words, I would hold my head up high, and say, 'Pull it, I know where I'm going when I die.' Nobody is perfect not even one, not you not I, not the lost soul holding the gun. Just believe in your heart that Christ died for you, your name written down, heaven's gates opened wide, your father whispering, 'Come, stand at my side.' No more sorrow, no more pain, a bullet for Christ and heaven I gain.