In the stillness, I find myself in sin. I turn into someone I don't even know. I give in to the darkness. I let it flood my soul, until all that's left is emptiness, until my strength is gone and I have lost my way. I drift away from God as the currents of destruction lead me to a turbulent storm that shakes me inside out. The winds whisper I am nothing of value. The waves slap me into an idea that maybe God doesn't love me anymore. It's not worth the fight, I should just give up. But I see a figure walking towards the storm, coming at my direction. My heart is trembling as I think to myself, "Is it a ghost?" "Take courage it is I. Don't be afraid." Peace overflowed my soul as the tempest and storms cease to exist. I cry with tears of joy. How could God pursue me? He takes me by the hand. And we walk on water. My eyes fixed on Him and my heart trusting that His love is wide, deep, high enough to forgive me. God is mightier than the storm.
Shame. I am ashamed. For my wicked thoughts. For my careless words. For my selfish deeds. For the decisions I have made.
I am ashamed. I am ashamed of who I am. I walk around with a heavy heart. I face the ground because that seems easier than to face my fears. I look past the people around me. Never looking them in the eye, never staying, never opening up. Because I am full of shame.
“I don’t deserve to breathe. I don’t deserve to be here. I don’t deserve to be alive.”
Your love follows me. You sing over me. You lighten up my path. You stop me in my tracks. You lift up my head. I see my reflection in Your eyes.
“Beautiful. Loved. Safe. Free. Free from shame.”
I look to You. I look to You. My face is never covered in shame.
Where I once saw sunshine and butterflies, the world I lived in drastically changed as I opened my eyes to a bleak, cold world.
Hope seemed far away.
My bones started to dry up, thirsty, but unwilling to drink the Water of life.
My armor weighed heavily on my shoulders.
I removed it, closed my eyes and went back to sleep.
But the day demanded I function.
The day demanded I be a daughter, a student, a friend, a human being.
Therefore I put on a mask and pretended that everything was okay. But through the dark covers I enter in solidarity.
I collapse and fall with tears that served as my food day and night.
I am hopeless.
I lay in bed watching the ceiling, waiting for God to come back.
Waiting for Hope.
As hope is being seeped by the darkness, I am left alone with nothing but emptiness.
My eyes turned dull as I search for reason in the sky.
My eyes are bleak as I'm weary from hiding the anger inside my soul.
I walk with heavy steps approaching my destined places accompanied by swirling thoughts of mistakes and regrets coupled with repressed anger caged in my mind, screaming to be out.
In all these, I search for God. I search, I cry, I die a little inside.
When will I see the sun? I listen to songs and music of hope and beauty but all I hear is noise.
I read the Word but all I perceive are plain words waiting for interpretation.
As days go by, I let the devil win again and again and again. I repeat the words,
“I fight from victory. Jesus has already won the fight.”
But my faith and actions believe otherwise.
It seems strange when revelations come. Some you remember vividly, others you can’t catch a whim of remembrance. What is still vivid, is the revelation that I have laid my armor down signifying my surrender. I have stripped myself bare, unaware, vulnerable to every attack.
With every blow, from the devil I crash down. Hard.
Weary from the fall, I open my eyes and see the armor laying beside me. Shiny and safe.
Jesus whispers, “Pick up your armor.”
I reached my hands and grabbed the armor of God and put it on.
With weak knees, I was able to stand firm as I buckled the belt of truth around my waist.
I arranged the breastplate of righteousness in place.
I wiggled my toes into the shoes that comes with readiness from the gospel of peace.
I put on the helmet of salvation which filled my mind with hope.
The armor still fit me perfectly, they belong to me.
I took up my shield of faith which immediately extinguished the flaming arrows of the evil one aimed at me.
Nearby, the sword of the Spirit was on the ground. I grabbed it and I was ready to fight.
I fight with the Word of God.
I regained strength, hope and peace.
Most of all, I regained the truth of how much God loves me. His love lifted up my soul and made me live again.
I drank from His well and ate the Bread of life.
In the wilderness, I was fed.
I was healed.
Days would come when it gets too much to fight.
Tears continuously fill my eyes, that I cannot see clearly.
I rest, but this time I don’t lay my armor down.
I keep hope in my chest.
I tell God, “Let me rest and tomorrow I’ll try again.”
I flung my sword in different directions and forgot to use my shield against the evil one, as I continue to fight out of breath.
Close to giving up, I wondered why I wasn’t crushed to death yet.
I looked back to see a scenery that caught my breath.
Thousands of angels and the mighty King, Himself, Jesus is fighting for me.
Is fighting with me.
But with every fight I have a choice.
Whether to trust Him to fight for me or to do it on my own. By grace and mercy He still fights for me.
This time I tell him to fight for me as weariness is overtaking.
He offers a place of comfort at the side, where the Holy Spirit counsels my tired heart.
Jesus knows I’ll come back again.
But today, I might as well rest and keep the Spirit company as He teaches me about the God I serve,
