Several years ago, my life was crumbling down around me. It wasn’t that I had found myself in an unexplainable situation that I had no control over. I wasn’t simply a victim of circumstance. I had, in fact orchestrated this glorious mess that was my own. And it hurt to own it. It was painful and raw and tender and new, but somehow it was my own doing, and I hated it. There was no switch to flip that would make it turn off, or balm to take away the sting. No way out. I had to go through it in order to come out on the other side.

I had come from a great family, had a wonderful childhood, loving parents, Christian upbringing, morals and values. But somewhere along the way I had traded that storyline for something much different. I had gotten into a different crowd, one without morals and values and good, caring people. It had become my new story and I wore it like a veil. It covered my happiness and my laughter. There was a difference in me that even I couldn’t readily see. An unfamiliarity with the image I saw in the mirror. Looking back it is scary, and sad. Sad. It makes me sad to remember my lack of backbone back then. I was afraid of making a move in the right direction again, back toward where I needed to be. Where I wanted to be. I thought that because I had chosen this path and spent so long on it and gone through so much to earn that set of scars, that it was where I had to go. There was no going back, no escape from myself and what I had come to know as my ‘normal.’

I thought I was fooling everyone. But I was only fooling myself. Friends tried to reach out to me, family tried to intervene. But I thought I deserved this life I had created. I didn’t know that my parents cared so much. I didn’t know that their prayers had saved me a hundred nights from some awful fate, and that their petitions to God were keeping me afloat while I was trying my hardest to sink. But they prayed anyway. I thank God they prayed. I will never forget the morning my dad drove me to the airport with a one-way ticket to a friends house in another state. He told me this was my ticket out, that I had to decide whether to sink or swim. We cried. He told me about their prayers for me, and their hopes for me. How they knew I was still in there somewhere. I didn’t want to go. I was afraid of what was going to happen once I really sobered up. I watched him from the plane, through hot, exhausted tears. He stood there until I couldn’t see him at the window anymore. It was one of the hardest things I ever did.

When the plane landed and my friend picked me up at the airport, it was bittersweet. She almost didn’t recognize me. My glow was hidden, my smile still lost somewhere. I think I was still in a fog. It felt like I must have slept for days when I first arrived. But eventually I woke up. We would talk over coffee and cigarettes. I laid open my soul to her with the hopes that she could help me empty the bad and replace it with good. And that’s exactly what she did. She listened. She cared. And she didn’t judge. Her husband was kind, and generous with their home. They were my resting place. It was hard for the first few months. Old friends tried to contact me, tried to slither back into my life. But I had changed. In the coffee and conversations and cigarettes, I had found myself again. I remembered who I was and who I wanted to be. I wasn’t the weak-minded shell that I had let myself become. I had a purpose here in this life.

I didn’t know then what my purpose was, and things haven’t been all roses and candy since that time, years ago. But I am always moving forward. Sometimes there are still thoughts of guilt and remorse. But I don’t let them take root. I am the gardener of my heart, and I work diligently to keep those weeds from sprouting. It takes perseverance and patience, and a love for yourself that must be learned again. But it’s so worth it. I will never go back to that dark, unforgiving place. I belong in the light, with the sun on my face and the wind at my back. I still cry, but I read somewhere that we must cry ourselves forward, out of that moment. It’s okay to cry, but you cannot stay in that place where the tears overpower you. You must cry yourself forward. So I cry myself forward sometimes.

Thinking of all the blessings I have been given, especially today – when I think of God ransoming me from the death I deserved, by giving his only son to die in my place, on a cross, with all the shame of my sins… It’s unexplainable. I am utterly unworthy. I would never be able to earn His forgiveness. But God so loved ME. Who am I, Lord? That you would lay down your life for me? A wretch. A sinner. I am Yours. And I am so profoundly thankful for your unending mercy and grace. I am thankful for second chances. And third, and fourth… I’m a work in progress, I know. But I know who holds my future, Lord. And I am so glad it’s not in my control. I tend to make a mess of things. But I keep on trying to do better. I am so thankful for the precious child I have been given, and the amazing husband that meets me right where I am, without judgement – only encouragement and love. I am so very blessed. And I don’t deserve any of it. It’s all because of Gods unending love for me. Thank you, Jesus!