Sunshine. Tears.

Sunshine. Tears.

This place is so beautiful. There is so much world to see. So much we will never see, never experience. But this place, this moment, this is beautiful. This is worth savoring, remembering. Treasuring.

I came here today because God told me to. I went to read, to write, and the cheerily decorated walls, the peppy music, the overly air conditioned atmosphere began to choke me. I practically ran out the doors. God whispered the word Arrowhead to me, so here I am. Sitting on a park bench beneath the spreading arms of a friendly old grandfather tree, hearing the traffic rush past just yards away. But here, I am alone.

Alone to ponder, to wonder at the power words have over me. I discovered the writing of Ann Voskamp today, and in less than ten pages I was moved to tears. There are some writers that capture your heart from the very first page, and Ann Voskamp seems to be one of them for me.

This sounds terribly arrogant of me to say, but her writing reminds me of my own. She is reflective, contemplative, theological, and dedicated to the art of painting pictures with her words. When I read her writing, I see everything I dream my own can be. Especially my name with the phrase New York Times best selling author attached. I read an interview she did recently, and with each word she used to describe her style, process, and beliefs about writing, I thought all the more.. Maybe I can actually do this. Maybe I can actually write.

I certainly have the passion. Sometimes it scares me how much power words do have over me. Sometimes I am terrified by their ability to overwhelm me with thoughts and emotions until I literally have to run away to a place like this to get them out. They will not leave me in peace until I do.

It’s strange because for a long time I personified the stories I write, simply as a sort of rhetorical strategy. It sounded good, it sounded poetic. And to a certain extent it was true. So go for it. Right?

But now.. I think my words have taken on new power. These words, these stories.. they truly do have life and power. They cry out to me to be told and I am driven to tears until they are. Sometimes I wonder how I lived for so long without discovering this passion, how it lay quiet in my soul for so long.

But perhaps that’s just it. Perhaps it wasn’t as quiet as I think. Perhaps I simply didn’t understand how to recognize its cries. It makes sense, doesn’t it? I lived for a long time not understanding my purpose, my calling. Not even  understanding what was wrong. I learned to settle.

I think we’re all taught to settle, actually.

We’re all taught either to simply ignore the cries in our hearts, desperately wishing for something more, or we’re taught to satisfy them with lesser things. And then we’re taught that we’re fine.

You have the job. The girl. The party. The life. You’re fine. You’re fine. You are fine.

Now be ok.

But what if it’s not? What if everything simply isn’t ok? And somewhere in the depths of our souls we know it’s not fine?

Then settle. Cause God knows it’s not ok to not be ok. Hide it. Shove it away. You’re fine.

But the thing is, that’s a lie. We’ve just been taught to settle for so long that we don’t even know any longer that we are in fact settling. We think we’re living life to the fullest.

Did you know that phrase is actually from the Bible? It’s just been so bastardized, so twisted, that the Biblical concept of life has been utterly lost. Forgotten. We don’t even look for it anymore. We’ve forgotten how to crave life.

But what if we did? What if there was more? What if there was passion living in your soul, passion that could move you to the most welcome and beautiful tears that will ever slip down your face?

It’s hard to let go of settling, terrifying to admit that deep down you are not fine. That in fact in the deepest, most personal part of your soul.. you are utterly broken. It’s a fundamental change. And it is painful. It is gut-wrenching, life-altering pain.

But through it passion is set free. Life is found. Joy is awoken.

Hello, sunshine. I love to see you through my tears. 

Scars

            It’s hard to say scars are beautiful. We hide our scars. We hide those stories that are deepest, most personal and most painful. They are the ones that define us, but we would rather not admit that, so we simply push them down. Put on a little more coverup and no one will notice, right? Good as new. And no one ever knows the difference.

            I guess you could say this blog is little more than one big parade of my scars. I’ve talked a lot (perhaps too much) about scars from my ex-boyfriend, but I’ve also talked about scars from my family, from the church, from my own beliefs about myself. I’m kind of a mess.

            I think we all are, though. We just don’t all feel the need to put these stories up on the internet for all to see. Stories probably don’t push and prod you until you write them down, dancing in the back of your head, intriguing you, teasing you.

            Oh well. Writer’s burden I guess. I promise I’m not crazy. It just sounds that way sometimes.

            So here they are. My scars. On display for all to see, to read, to digest, to judge. What do you think of me now that you have seen them? That really doesn’t matter, honestly. Because I truly believe I am more beautiful for them. But I’ll admit, it’s still hard to think about sometimes. Still hard to realize that everyone from my coworkers to my professors can learn about them, if they so choose.

            So why do I think it’s worth it? Well, because my scars are dealt with. They are healed. The sign of a forgiven past is the ability to speak of it to anyone. To simply say yes, here it is. Here’s my shitty past, my bad decisions, my lapses in judgment, embarrassing beliefs, shameful moments. Here they are. But guess what? That’s not me anymore.

            And we wear our scars proudly. We don’t have to live in fear of who may find out, who may learn the true story behind it. We will tell anyone who asks. See this one? This was an abusive relationship for two years. Yes, I regret it. Yes, I am ashamed of it. But guess what? It made me who I am today. And grace has transformed hell into heaven.

            I think that’s my favorite thing about scars. Well, about scars worn proudly. Scars unhidden. They open doors. They break down walls. And God knows we’re in need of something to break down walls.

            We’re broken people, constantly striving to prove we are worth it, to prove we are good enough. We hide our faults so we can convince those around us we have value. Our value lies in perfection, in the affirmation of others. So they must only ever see the pristine façade. They must only see the person we think they want to see.

           

            We enslave ourselves to others every day.

            We sell our lives, our selves, to a concept, an idea, of who we should be and what we should do. Wherever we have gained it, we have decided that is where we will find worth, and body and soul we have sold ourselves to it. It’s a small price to pay for worth, right?

            But we all long to be free. Freedom. It’s a magical word, really. It holds such hope, such relief. It brings to my mind such a picture of relief. The word almost has a taste, a visceral reaction. It is pure magic.

            We long for the freedom to wear our scars, for the courage to stand boldly, scars and all.

            I personally believe scars are a sign of intimacy. Hear me out on this one.

            My boyfriend’s right arm is a maze of scars. And incredibly unlucky childhood led to three terrible breaks on the same arm, various metal pins and plates, and plenty of scars. Now, before my boyfriend became my boyfriend he was simply the boy I was absolutely crazy about, but way too scared to ever talk to. He was simply way out of my league and I was just a scared little sophomore. But I longed to get to know him.

            I have a very vivid memory of him that sophomore year. It must have been early on in my infatuation with him, and I remember being in a group of people with him, simply chatting before choir rehearsal. I sat quietly, as I usually did, simply observing the group. And I remember catching sight of that right arm and thinking, I wonder where those scars came from. I want to know the story behind those scars.

            I adore those scars now, not because I am somehow happy he broke his arm, but because they represent intimacy with him. I now know him well enough to know the stories not only behind those physical scars, but behind every scar he holds inside. I know stories of wounds that literally no one else on earth knows.

            Sometimes I just run my finger down those scars, thinking to myself how incredibly blessed I am to know this man, to understand these scars that have built him, broken him, formed him.

            He knows every scar within me, too. And there will be more to discover, I’m sure. But you see, I am absolutely free to share those scars with him. There is perfect trust to share those hurts, those scars. I am not ashamed to tell him the most shameful of my secrets. There is freedom within that relationship. Freedom from the past, freedom from scars.

            There is freedom because we have both squared with our pasts. We know that our worth comes, not from those scars, not from those past mistakes, not from anything that we do, but from our identity as forgiven children of God. It is that identity that gives freedom, that reality that gives us the courage to share our scars.

             He and I often say that our relationship is how relationships should be. Yes, that sounds incredibly arrogant and conceited. Our relationship is not perfect. But then again, it is. And hear my heart, that is not meant to be arrogant. It is said with humble awe that God has blessed us with something this unbelievably wonderful. This is how life was meant to be.

            We were all meant for community like this, for open intimacy that does not live in fear of another discovering our scars, but that wears scars with humble confidence in the grace of Christ.  That’s where the freedom is found. The truth will set you free. And the truth is we are forgiven. Transformed. Set free. Free to wear our scars.

           

           

            

I Forgive You

Disclaimer: This post is a letter I wrote a few days ago to my ex-boyfriend. It was something I felt I simply had to write. God had been reminding me so much that if I do not forgive, He will not forgive me. And so I needed to express that. I was hesitant to actually put it up on my blog, as it is a very personal piece. In fact, a lot of what I write is very personal, and it's difficult for me to share, not knowing who will read it or how they will react. And while that is something that scares me, it is also a large part of why I feel I need to put these pieces out there. I never know who will be reading my blog. The wonderful and terrible thing about them is that anyone can write one and anyone can read it. So I don't know who has read some of the most personal stories of my life and what they think of them. But what keeps me writing is the off chance that someone out there is helped by my words and my stories. Maybe someone has had a relationship experience much like mine and will be helped, blessed, and challenged by what God has taught me through all this. I can only pray so.

I forgive you.

And yes, it took me almost nine months to be able to say that. Simply put, I am doing it because God commands it. Because we are told that God forgives us as we forgive those who trespass against us.

You are a terrible person. You did terrible things to me. And to be honest, you messed me up quite completely. I am still sorting out a lot of leftover shit from you. Still un-learning a lot of lies you taught me. But those two years of my life set me on a journey, took me on a path that has brought me where I am today. I probably could have gotten there more easily. But God has taught me so much through that journey.

God has the power to redeem any situation, to overcome any weakness, to heal the broken, set the captives free. I’ve learned that. I’ve lived that. Thanks to you, I guess.

So I don’t hold my past against you. I made the choice to stay with you. I chose to stay out of God’s path for me. He has redeemed it, thank God. I guess that’s the grace of God.

Sometimes I’m still really angry at you, but I think I have finally let that go. The past is the past, and all I can do now is learn from it and be set free from it. I can turn it over to God and let Him transform it into a story of His glory and power. And it is His to avenge. I don’t have to make you realize what you did, I don’t have to pay you back for it. That’s His job. I’m free now.

I’m really happy, honestly. And I hope someday you can come to Him and experience the same grace that I have. I don’t hate you. I don’t ever want anything to do with you ever again, but I don’t hate you. I just needed to tell you this, needed to let go of all the things inside of me. To be entirely honest, it’s eaten me up inside for a long time. But I’m free from all that now.

I guess the point is, I’m not angry at you anymore. I pity you. I hope you find some sort of help someday. But you don’t have any power over me. You don’t have the power to make me feel small, weak, stupid, guilty. You can’t manipulate me anymore. Christ has set me free.

So please don’t ever try to contact me. You are simply someone who was once a part of my life, and is now gone. Forgiven and gone forever. 

For Christ's Sake, Let us Dream

            It’s a terrifying thing to consider what it actually means to follow Christ. It seems every time I am faced with it, I stop just short of actually encountering it. I have begun to experience it I think. But there is always so much more to experience, to discover, to surrender. It is radical. It flies in the face of everything we have ever learned from our culture. It is directly opposed to our human nature.

            Do we really want to be transformed by Christ? Or do we simply want enough of Him to make our every day lives easier? How dedicated are we to the concept of not living for ourselves? To living for His glory alone? To changing the world? Sobering questions, aren’t they?

            But questions that must be answered. And I am afraid that I cannot answer that I am willing. My wonderfully wise boyfriend said the other day that in order for God to answer us, we must first be willing to hear the answer, to follow where He leads, to do what He asks. And so it gives me pause when I pray for things such as transformation, when I pray that I surrender my life, my day, my all to Him. Do I truly mean what I say? Am I willing to surrender the things closest to my heart? To accept the fact that I, in and of myself, am nothing? That every good thing within me is from Christ?

            It is a terrifying thing to consider what it actually means to follow Christ.

            Because when we are honest with ourselves, when we come face to face with the reality of a radically surrendered life, we must then ask ourselves one question.

            Is it worth it?

            That’s the question the rich young man was faced with. He saw what it would take to follow Jesus, and it was not worth it for him. He walked away. And for the first time it strikes me how unutterably tragic that is. Mostly because it happens every single day, even in my own life. No, Jesus. I don’t think you are worth more than my insecurity, than my fear, than my comfort. I would like to hang on to those things. I won’t step out of my comfort zone to follow you. I just want you to make me better. I don’t actually want to serve you.

            And yet even as I consider it, I am gripped with fear. As I consider saying yes, stepping out of the boat, I am terrified that I will sink. But the beautiful thing is, Peter did sink. And still Christ caught Him. Christ does not expect perfection. He does not wish to make us miserable. He simply loves us more than we could ever imagine, and asks that we trust that His plan is what will satisfy us. Gives us life. Life to the full.

            Look up from your earthly concerns, your earthly dreams, and see that Christ has more for you. See that what He has for you is worth it. See that it is terrifying, that you cannot do it on your own, but that relying on Him every day, every moment, will make your life worth living.

            And believe it is worth it. Believe leaving the world behind and stepping into light is worth it.

            May my dreams be expanded. I still believe writing is my dream. But no matter how big that dream is in earthly measures, it is utterly insignificant in light of the gospel and our call to follow Christ. For Christ’s sake, let us dream. Not for our own sake, not for our own glory, but for His. May we no longer be satisfied with our dreams of life, our definitions of success. May we be willing to follow the radical, life-changing, all-consuming plan He has for us.

            It is terrifying, but it is so worth it. His life is so worth it. His dreams are so much greater than our own. For Christ’s sake, let us dream. I thought I was consumed by a dream to write. And truly, I am. I dream of writing, of winning a Pulitzer prize, of greatness. I dream of writing words that will transform, that will take hold of those who read them and never let them go, never let them be the same.

            For Christ’s sake. Not for my own glory, not for my own fulfillment, but for the advancement of His kingdom, His name, His truth. His dreams for me are so far beyond my own. It will be terrifying, it will mean more sacrifice than I can imagine. But it will mean more joy than I can ever imagine.

            It is a terrifying thing to consider what it actually means to follow Christ, but it is also the greatest adventure we will ever encounter. We all long for adventure. We thirst for it. We need it. Well, here it is. Are you willing to trade your own adventure, your own dreams for His? Knowing that His dreams, His plan, will lead you to be more of yourself than you could ever imagine? That His dreams for you are more perfectly suited for everything inside of you than you could ever imagine?

            That doesn’t sound so terrifying, does it? Falling into the arms of Christ and resting there? Trusting Him through every moment, every day, every experience. Living with His Spirit, His power within you? Resting in His love? It is beyond our imagining. We have simply forgotten how to dream, how to long for what Christ has for us. We have been taught to settle.

            Wake up, O sleeper, rise from the dead and Christ will shine on you. For Christ’s sake, let us dream dreams beyond our wildest imaginings.

      

Ox & Kitty

How exactly does one write a story when you don’t know the ending?

            Actually, that’s how I write most things. The things I write have a life of their own. I simply write them down as they come to me, and often they don’t reveal to me what they truly are until the end, and I am just surprised as my readers by the way they end up.

            My readers. Ha, as if I have readers.

            That is a beautiful dream, though. To think that someday I will have readers.

            But for the moment, I simply wait for inspiration to strike, for a moment to whisper to me, and for a story to reveal itself to me.

            And believe me, I am more curious than all of you as to how the story of Ox & Kitty will end up.

            Sometimes I wonder why it is so much more difficult to write about happy things than painful things. Perhaps it is simply because I want so badly to get it right, to express perfectly all the things I’m feeling. Nothing ever seems quite adequate and so I end up quitting before the story has shown me who it is. Whereas when I write about sad things, painful things, I simply write, simply let my emotions flow on into words until the story has laid itself before me and I emerge amazed at what I wrote.

            The best writing teaches you something about your own emotions.

            The other thing about happy writing is we so seldom reflect on our own happiness. When we are sad, when we are hurt, we stew in it, dwell on it, churn it over and over in our minds and regurgitate it to experience the pain over and over again. We question it, examine it, and relive it. Happiness, on the other hand, is simply experienced. We breathe it, we live it, we bask in it. But once it is gone, we seldom reflect upon it. Rather we pine for its return so we can go on living. As a result, unless we capture that emotion as we experience it, rarely can it be transferred onto the page. And the difficult thing is, when we are that happy, we can never find the words to describe it.

            And so the cycle continues. We write sad songs, sad books, sad stories. And we dwell in sadness.

            I am as guilty as the next person, perhaps far more so, actually. I am by nature reflective, sensitive, and a bit melancholy. An absolute sucker for weepy guitar music, I will naturally turn to the quiet, the piercingly beautiful, the dramatic.

            Yet I am not simply that person. I am also a person full of joy and life, spark and sass, and that side of me rebels against the quiet reflective side. These two sides of me constantly duel for my attention and attitude, and, perhaps a bit tragically, it is the weepy side that most often wins when I write. Simply put, my sassy side does not enjoy reflecting, it enjoys adventuring, laughing, moving. So the quiet side takes over my fingers as I sit still at my desk or coffeeshop table and attempt to write the stories of my life.

            But this time, I don’t want that side of me to win out. Yes, I want to reflect, but I also want to somehow capture something that makes me so utterly joyful. And that is my ox Jake. He was given the moniker of Ox by my dear friend Nikki who was teasingly insulting his size. I, however, loving the fact that he is something of a giant who happens to tower over my tiny five-foot, 93-pound frame, adopted the name as an affectionate nickname.  He currently resides in my phone not as Jake but as My ox.

            I get perhaps a strange amount of pleasure out of the fact that my boyfriend is a giant. His old track jacket, which is currently residing in my car and will never be returned to him, comes down to my knees and could comfortably fit three Esthers within its folds. Yet I wear it with pride, loving the fact that it envelops me. It reminds me that he is strong enough to protect me, to wrap his arms around my tiny self and shield me from that which hurts me. And it doesn’t hurt that he holds the school record in hammer throw and that just sounds badass when you’re bragging about your boyfriend.

            But on a more serious note, I think perhaps the reason that his willingness to protect me strikes me so deeply and means so much is because my last boyfriend also claimed to be willing to protect me. And in fact, he did “protect” me from others. He defended me from those who spoke to me unkindly, and always was willing to keep me safe from any sketchy characters. He simply was unable to protect me from himself. He thought he was my protector. He sincerely believed, and I think still believes, that he kept me safe and treated me well. But that merely shows the depths of his delusion.

            He spoke many of the same words Jake does. In fact, there have been moments that their words are eerily similar. But the critical difference is Jake lives those words. He tells me every day that he loves me, but he also strives to live those words, to show me by his actions that he means those words. Brandon told me every day that he loved me and with his every action belied those words.

            But Jake. Oh Jake. What can I say about him? I adore him. And I choose that word intentionally. According to the utterly reliable source of dictionary.com, to adore someone is to regard with the utmost esteem, to love, respect, and honor. And this one word woke me up to the fact that I needed to end my relationship with Brandon.

            I was sitting in Psalms and Wisdom Literature class, taught by the one and only Dr. John Hiigel. He is by far one of the most beloved and respected professors at USF, and one that has always shown the utmost care and concern for each of his students. I admire him greatly and respect and at least attempt to learn from every word of wisdom that comes from his mouth. On this particular day, we were studying Song of Solomon, the awkward, dirty, book of Hebrew sex poetry. Only Dr. Hiigel could have taken this book and transformed it into a real lesson about relationships. He was giving a small side-note monologue about, well, something. Relationships, marriage, I’m really not sure of the details. But I will forever remember the moment he said, “And for heavens sake, don’t marry someone you don’t adore.”

            As a girl coming to grips with the reality that I would end up married to this Brandon character, I was struck by his words. And as I reflected on what it meant to adore someone, I realized I absolutely did not adore Brandon. I was embarrassed by him, I was bitter towards him, I thought he was hurtful, unkind, and weak. In many ways, I think I already hated him. And I was considering marrying this person?

            Needless to say, I broke up with him a few weeks later.

            But I adore Jake. I respect him. I think he is strong, brave, talented, intelligent, kind, hilarious. I think he is a genuinely good man who is seeking after God, who loves God more than he loves me. And as much as that is a cliché, it is invaluable. He inspires me in so many ways. He pushes me to Christ by his words and his example, and so inspires me to be a more Christ-centered version of myself.

            But one of the biggest gifts he has given me is the inspiration to write. He saw that I have a gift, a talent, a passion, and he encourages me constantly to pursue it. Even if it means giving up time with him in order to write, even if it means that I sit on his couch completely ignoring him while we’re supposed to be having a Food Network date, he is patient and understanding with my attempts to chase my dreams. Every piece I write he reads with care, seeking to understand me and my heart more fully. He literally reads my blog every single day because he says he finds something new each time.

            Yeah. Be jealous. My boyfriend is fantastic.

            This kid is completely wrapped around my finger. And he knows it and is completely ok with it. He brings me flowers just because. He never lets me pay, even when I want to. He calls me to encourage me before interviews and first days. He misses me when he doesn’t see me every day. He visits me at work.

            What did I do to deserve this?

            He is absolutely my best friend. I know, I know, that’s a cliché. And I hate clichés with a burning passion. But there simply is no other way to say it. We were best friends before we ever fell in love and we will always be best friends first. Our relationship is not about what the other person should be doing for us, it’s not about what they did to annoy us, not about pressure or jealousy or expectations. It is simply life. But with your best friend.

            So I don’t know how the story will end. Not for sure. But really, I don’t have to know the ending. Because the story isn’t about the ending. The story is still revealing itself to me. I am still in the adventure, still living life.

            And really. It’s pretty perfect.

            So I hope the ending stays far away. 

The Problem of Pain

What is my story?

Well. It is one of transformation. I don't know exactly why some things have happened in my life. In fact, I asked that question today in utter frustration. Why must things have happened the way they did? Why did I have to experience so much pain? Why did I have to go through what I did? Why much my story be filled with so much darkness? Why must the past haunt me so?

We constantly ask the question why in life, Christians just as much as anyone else. Perhaps we ask it more, actually, simply because we have someone to ask. We have Someone who was supposed to make it all better. So what the fuck happened?

To be honest, I don't really have a good answer for that. I wrote a sixteen page Bender research paper on the subject of suffering (which I got an A on btw) and I still have no idea what I think about the problem of pain.

Scratch that, I have an idea. I just don't have a pat little answer. Frankly, I don't think there is one. God is not a simple God. His ways are not simple, and as much as He has chosen to reveal Himself in this world, there are many things we will simply never be able to grasp fully.

So. God. What's the deal? Why so much pain in my life? Why am I still haunted? Why did this have to happen to me and why does it seem he got off scot free? He doesn't even acknowledge what he did wrong. I have had this conversation with God many times. It's definitely not a new subject with us.

But every time I have this conversation with Him, I am reminded of something TJ Oates of all people said during one of the worship nights at Central Baptist. It wasn't really a place I was expecting to hear something of lasting value, but amidst TJ's rambling, God taught me something. He taught me that I must be amazed by my own story.

And I am. When I reflect upon my life, mostly the past three years of it, I run the gamut of emotional experiences, but mostly I am struck with complete and utter thankfulness. The faithfulness of God literally seems to overwhelm me, and all I can do is cry tears of thankfulness. You see, I came so close to losing everything.

I know that sounds dramatic, but eight months ago, I was at a crossroads that I am convinced was to determine the course of the rest of my life. My relationship with Brandon had reached a point of complete inevitability. I had fount for so long and I was, quite simply, tired of fighting anymore. I had accepted that I would end up married to this person, whether or not I was actually happy, whether or not it was actually what I wanted. It was what he wanted, and he would get what he wanted. All I could do was pray desperately that I would not always be as miserable as I was then.

I had given up hope that happiness would ever come for me. I hated myself and my life, but the course was set and I felt powerless to stop it. I had lost most of my friends thanks to him, I had largely stopped speaking to my family. At his insistence, I never told anyone the truth of what was going on.

It was all inevitable, it was all hopeless. I had lost faith that even God could rescue me. He had not answered my prayers to change Brandon, to make it stop, to change the disastrous course laid out before me. I believed He had ordained this course for me. So why would He change it?

Everything of value was slipping away from me - family, friends, faith - to use an unintentionally cheesy alliteration. And the thing is, the completely terrifying thing is, I had accepted it. It had all become inevitable because I felt powerless to change it. The course of my life was set. Or so I thought.

Over the course of the past eight months and through a set of circumstances only God could have ordained, all this has changed. Sometimes I look back and I am completely amazed. Scratch that. Every time I look back I am completely amazed. I am not even sure I have the words to describe how different my life is now from eight months ago.

Nope. I officially don't. The change is extraordinary. Truly supernatural, actually. I don't believe I have ever used that adjective before, but it is the only one that will suffice. Because you see, God rescued me. God saved me. I do not say that to be dramatic. I really do not intend to be melodramatic. I simply am trying to convey the overwhelming faithfulness of God.

Now when I reflect upon my life, that is what I see. I see His faithfulness. I had given up on Him but He had not given up on me. Even when I was faithless, He remained faithful. Because as much as I was a victim, I still chose that path. I chose to reject what God had for me and live for what I chose. It drove me to despair, and Christ reached down and pulled me out of my own foolishness.

He rescued me. He saved me. He took me from an abusive relationship to one that fills me with joy and points me to Him. He transformed me from a broken shade to my true self. I will never be rid of my past, but I am free from it. It effects me, but will never define me. It has taught me, it does not own me.

I am amazed by my own story. I stand in awe of God as I see His work in my life. And perhaps that is why this has happened. I am not saying that is beyond a shadow of a doubt why it has happened. Like I said, there are no easy answers, no pat solutions. Perhaps twenty years from now, I will have a completely different idea of what the purpose of the past two years was. But for now, this is what God has chosen to reveal to me.

Recently, I had a conversation with God and asked Him so many questions why. Why did You make me this way? Why do things not come easily to me? Why are simple things so difficult for me? Simply put, why am I the way I am? Why have I been so broken and why did I have to go through all of this? I poured my heart out to Him, and I heard Him speak. I heard His words.

God told me Esther, let me tell you something. I love you. And I made you the way I did intentionally. Yes, things are difficult for you. No, you are not like everyone else. Yes, you have experienced some terrible things and in many ways, those things have robbed you of what little strength you had.

But all of that made you rely on me. It broke you, but it forced you to come to me. It wounded you in a way that only I can heal. It brought you to me, and I healed you. I transformed you, I set you free. Yes, you are weak. But I am strong. And your weakness has brought you into my arms.

So my question for you, Esther, is this - is it worth it?

Is knowing me worth it? Is being utterly reliant on my strength worth the weakness? Am I worth it? Is your story of my faithfulness worth what you have gone through?

Well. What do you say to that? It's easy to say yeah, God, of course it's worth it. But is that really true? Am I willing to say that I accept my past because it displays God's glory? That my pain is worth it because it brought me to dependence on Christ? Is He worth it?

Yes.