I’m not perfect.
But, ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to be. When you’re “perfect”, people can’t judge you. Men can’t hurt you. The pain of past mistakes and fears are forever banished by the illusion that all is well.
I know that these words aren’t true, but for a long time, this is how I lived my life — a shell. Broken. Always trying to tape up and paint over the cracks, so that people wouldn’t see how fragile I was.
Abuse is . . . abuse. Whatever the kind. Whomever it comes from. Whatever the shade of dominance.
I lost my voice. My heart’s voice, for years. Silenced by the pain of rejection. And fear. Docility becoming my modus operandi.
This is where I learned that GOD loves me, I mean truly loves me. . . when I was at the bottom of faith’s hill scrambling for the dredges of my identity, shaking my fist toward heaven, demanding tangibility. More than a name. More than a story. More than a “feel good” song.
“I can’t break these chains! LORD [if YOU are real], show me YOUR hand!”
I’m thankful that GOD never ignores the cry of the broken-hearted and forgives us for our impetuousness. I am saved by HIS grace, alone, a sinner once removed.
I asked GOD to give me my voice back. HE gave me a pen and paper. Every word that now drips from the tip of my pen is one more note added to the beautiful melody that is now my life. I can’t NOT write. I can’t NOT share. HE is real. My story, my redemption is proof. The great conductor of our soul is just waiting on us to remember who HE is, and believe.
No more cracks. No more broken shells. Through CHRIST I am free from the mess and chains of my past. I am whole again.
GOD has given me new names: Freedom, Power, Strength and Joy.