Unveiling Hope

Metamorphosis - Part II

Through her tears, she spied a glint of light. It captured her attention. It flickered and danced on the carpet. She watched it; she was mesmerized - momentarily forgetting why she was on the floor in the first place. Where was it coming from? She scanned the room quickly. What is this? That glimmering fragment of light before her was overcoming darkness. There came with it a sense of peace, a sense of intrigue and curiosity that entreated just a few more minutes of her time. She acquiesced.

Her laboured and shallow breathing began to cultivate a feeling of liberty as she held up her head. A sweet aroma permeated the room, ever so slight in fragrance – something unknown to her before. She closed her eyes and filled her nostrils carrying the bouquet deeply into her lungs as they expanded. It hypnotized her, capturing every sense in a whirlwind of delight. The tears had ceased, not just the tears that had streamed down her face, but her sobbing soul gave way to an awareness she had never experienced.

Through the lids of her eyes the light became stronger. She felt a warm touch; the glistening light splashed a rainbow atop her hand. She moved it, but it followed. She waved her hand slowly wondering how, why, it was as if it had been painted on.

The darkness began to dissipate as she continued to breathe in that unnameable delicate scent. And then from nowhere, a reflection of innocence stared at her. There was something unmistakeably familiar about it. She was beautiful. She was a child – she was a woman? In a fraction of a moment the light became brighter than bright, whiter than white – a pure glow – clarity.

“Do you see what I see?” A calming voice spoke to her. “She is who I see when I look at you. I’ve watched you paint your life on this canvas; I watched every stroke you made. I cried every tear you cried and more. I waited. I waited and wanted more than life itself to come to you, but I couldn’t. You never called out to me until now. I had to be sure you wanted me.”

He held out his hand. She was serene, there was no fear left inside – no more sorrow – no more grief. He had seen inside her and loved her – for the first time in her life she knew love – she felt loved. She reached her hand out to his. His essence filled her emptiness. His light overcame the darkness. He wrapped himself around her; she didn’t understand what was happening and she didn’t care. “Follow me?” He asked. One final tear dropped over her cheek – a tear of hope. He lead her by the hand and she followed, never to look back again.

Metamorphosis - Part I

The metamorphosis was almost complete for she was the guilt and shame, the bitterness and loneliness, the fearfulness and emptiness that pooled itself in the middle of the floor. Her very life force had all but slipped away, absorbing into the fibres of the carpet as she let go.

Letting go – it seemed that her very struggle in life had been holding on – as if she had been carrying around a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle in her hands, searching for the last piece and hoping that no one would come close enough to cause the puzzle to collapse. The puzzle was her life. There was no foundation upon which she carried it – no box top, no cardboard slice, no Plexiglas beneath it to maintain the integrity of the puzzle.

Each piece was a hand-painted representation of all her hopes and dreams, water colours stained by her tears, faded by the harshness of the elements that weathered what she had so diligently pieced together over the years. But that last piece, that elusive last piece, was the vision and hope that had sustained her so far – nowhere to be found. As she had let go the clarity of her hopefulness turned to despair, fading into the recesses of her mind. All hope was lost now. There was no point. She laid the puzzle down. No more searching. No more longing. No more struggling. No more.

As she gazed upon it one last time it too began to melt away. She had come to the end of herself. Darkness had already coveted the room, enticing her further, begging her to follow.

She closed her eyes. The first moments were quiet, like the murky stillness of the ocean bed. As she took her last breaths, her body became heavy, a shipwreck hitting bottom. Darkness had come to ravage her. “Is there no peace in death itself?” She cried out. “If you’re really there, if you really love me show yourself. If not, let me go!”

Through her tears, she spied a glint of light. It captured her attention. It flickered and danced on the carpet. She watched it; she was mesmerized - momentarily forgetting why she was on the floor in the first place. Where was it coming from? She scanned the room quickly. What is this? That glimmering fragment of light before her was overcoming darkness. There came with it a sense of peace, a sense of intrigue and curiosity that entreated just a few more minutes of her time. She acquiesced.

Sintimacy - Part III - New Beginnings

People have sexual relations for many reasons. For some, it’s pure physical pleasure without commitment. For others it’s a physical commitment in pursuit of an emotional commitment, and there are those who do it God’s way – inside a covenant relationship, exclusive to all others.

What I thought was the intimate expression of love was just sex. I sought love and received lust. I sought self-confidence from someone else and received insecurity. I felt attractive on the outside and ugly on the inside. My flesh felt valued; my soul felt used. They found me desirable, I was just available. They had sex with a woman; I felt like a whore. I hate the word WHORE. I really do. But that is exactly how I felt. In their arms I felt accepted, when they left I felt rejected.  My body embraced them while my heart erased them. My heart and mind overflowed with regret and shame. My broken heart was in denial and defending my actions. I was in my own kind of prison. You may be wondering ... why? Why did I do it? Why did I do it over and over again?

It’s really very simple. I was empty inside. I didn’t really understand what love was. I mean real love; the kind of love that isn’t dependent on how I looked, how I responded, how much gave, or whether I was smart enough. The bottom line is that I had very little love for myself and very little self-respect. I wanted to be loved for who I was, and for who I could be – who I was created to be.

Sharing a sexual relationship with someone, whether it occurs once, several, or many times, cannot be done without leaving after effects. Confusing love with lust and intimacy with proximity is dangerous to the soul. Intimacy requires a personal relationship. Sex is meant to be an expression of that relationship. Love gives, lust takes. Intimacy shapes, sintimacy rapes.

No one ever had to coerce me into these “relationships.” But after every one, I always felt as if I had been violated and the worse thing about it is that I had debased myself in sexual sin. So I ended up achieving the opposite of what I had set out accomplish.

I’ve repented and by this I mean – I’ve changed. When I gave my dirty, broken heart to Jesus, He washed it clean. He transformed me. Our souls are reserved for only one Trinity. They were not meant to be fragmented. God doesn’t just want little bits and pieces of the soul. In order to be intimate with Him – He needs to have all of it. It doesn’t matter if it’s been ripped open, nor does it matter who’s responsible for its condition. He can restore and renew. I am pure now. I must be, because He’s chosen to make His home in me.

I’m confessing this as an act of encouragement to anyone who needs it. If you are seeking love through sex, outside of marriage, outside of God’s will, you are walking around with bits and pieces of other peoples’ souls and you’re missing little bits of your own. It impossible to be complete in this condition.

If you’re engaged to be married, test your patience and self-control. If you really love the other, as yourself, you would want to give the gift of yourself completely. God thinks you’re worth waiting for, don’t you? If you can’t wait for sex now, you’re going to begin a marriage based on a foundation of instant gratification and it won’t be limited to sex. In the covenant of marriage – the two become one – with God. If you’ve been promiscuous in the past – just stop. He can make you whole again. He can replenish what’s been lost. He can restore and renew.

“For this is the will of God, your sanctification. That you abstain from sexual immorality; that each one of you know how to control his own body in holiness and honour, not in the passion of lust,” 1 Thess. 4:3-5.

Sintimacy - Part II

I’ve started this post at least ten times. Each attempt seemed to render more effective my pinkie finger’s familiarity with the “backspace” key. I’ve written hundreds of posts and given testimony about many issues that have caused me shame and embarrassment yet none as deeply as this one. This post has rattled me. I’ve asked God, over and over again, “Do you REALLY want me to post this?” I keep hearing the word, “Yes.” But my flesh keeps screaming “No! Why? Why, after all the confessions I’ve made is this one the most difficult? The only answer I can come up with is that, in this confession, I’ve had no one to blame but myself. I’ve made all the choices.

I’ve spent more time reflecting over what I’m about to write than the time I’ll invest in writing this post. I have a message to share about what happens to a person’s soul when they give part of it away in a sexual relationship.

I think that an individual’s soul is compromised of free will, their heart, and their mind – a trinity. When the three are not in harmony with each other many choices are recklessly made. You see, I believe that while we have “free” will, that is – the freedom to choose and make decisions for ourselves – if the trinity of our soul is not operating in unity many of the choices we make are done so from a place of bondage. This was the case for me, as it relates to sexual immorality, before I fell in love with Jesus.

I was married at a very young age, for all the wrong reasons. I spent several years searching for unconditional love. Because I really had no concept as to what real, healthy and unconditional love was, I had to draw on my past experience and fantasy to formulate my own definition; this lead to several inappropriate relationships outside of marriage. Four years after my divorce, I began living “common law” with a man who I would marry six years later. After ten years that relationship ended. I was still no closer to finding what I had been pursuing almost my entire life. During our marriage however, there was immorality, and while it was not adultery – it was really no different. It had the same effect.

When my second marriage ended, it became a springboard to seeking out every possible “type” of man and/or relationship that I could “try on for size.” Nothing. Nada. Nyet. Well, I did get something out of it – just not what I really wanted. I hate the word PROMISCUOUS. I hate it. And that’s probably why I hated myself for so long.

Is it possible to have sex with someone without intimacy? From my experience, the answer is no. Whether the sex occurs with someone you love or someone you just met, whether it happens once, or over duration of a relationship, once two bodies connect they become one. This occurs because the bodies have come together as one but as a result a soul tie is formed. If one’s soul connects with several others it begins to divide – to fragment. How can someone give themselves completely to another once their soul has been fragmented?

In tomorrow’s post, I’ll be sharing the reasons for the unhealthy choices I made in the past. I’ll also be sharing the consequences these decisions had on me as a whole person, as well as the healing and transformation process I underwent – how God restored me to a place where I don’t seek love in for the wrong reasons, from the wrong people, or in the wrong places.

Happy endings are what He’s all about. See you tomorrow.

The Abyss

An abyss is a  bottomless and unfathomable chasm, a void, nothingness, a hole. Far too many people are well acquainted with this sense of purposeless, a sense of emptiness. For years I searched and sought out things, relationships and substances that I was sure might fill that void - the abyss was my dying heart and soul.

I was blessed. I was lead out of the abyss. That place was never meant to exist in the way it did. That place began as a pure and innocent vacant dwelling. It was created to be filled by one, The One. In 1991, I met someone who was more than willing to introduce me to The One, in a way I had never really known Him. Unfortately, that introduction ended up creating a deeper chasm between He and I because I couldn't live up to the expectations, dogma and doctrine of the group of people who were professing one thing with their mouths and quite another with their hearts.

But He was a gentleman; He didn't want to claim His 'squatter's right'. He wouldn't come in without an invitation. I wasn't about to invite Him in. He was a stranger. What if I let Him in and He took advantage of me? What if I let Him in and He abused me, like so many others? I was surviving, why look for more grief? Yet, the hole remained.

He brought me to a place where He was present. He introduced Himself through people who loved Him, through people whose hearts were joined with His, knit together. He introduced Himself through a love that knew no boundaries and kept no prisoners.

How deep can deep get? Had I never gone there, I would have never found out, I would have never knocked. I would have never sought Him out. I had to be exactly where I was to see that there was hope. When all else failed, I grabbed onto my Lifeline and held on with every ounce of strength I could muster. And when my strength failed, His prevailed.

The abyss was never what it appeared to be. It was Deep calling unto deep, His Spirit to mine. It wasn't a void or a chasm. It was a home, reserved for two. He has made His home in me. In the depths of my mind, heart and soul, with Him in His rightful place, I found peace and stillness. I found joy and a deep and abiding love.

What Matters Most is How not Why

My name is Hope, but I wasn’t always Hope, either by name or by quality. I spent a good deal of my life living as if, and believing that I was hopeless.

John Ortberg said, “God wants to be known, but not in a way that overwhelms us, that takes away the possibility of love freely chosen ... You never know what unlikely scenario he’ll use for his purpose.”

I want to tell you about the unlikely scenario God used in my life to glorify himself and lift me up – to give me a new name – hope and a future.

I was abused from the age of 4 until 16. While, in the past, I have revealed the age the abuse began in my testimony, I rarely speak of when the abuse ended fearing that I’d be shamed and blamed.

After all, how could anyone ever understand why a young girl of 16, in high school, can’t say ‘no’ or simply report abuse? Well, my mother knew and she did nothing to help so how could I trust someone I didn’t know to help? I just ran away, from home, but not my problems.

I spent most of my life searching for the unconditional love of a father, but my experiences clouded the truth about what real love was as well as any possibility that real love was unconditional.

I knew of God but I didn’t know him personally, not like the Father that I know he is today. And to me, Jesus was the name of a little baby in a manger. I didn’t think men could be trusted and this was reinforced by my having been raped and further abused by other men that came into my life.

I’m glad that God doesn’t force Himself on those He loves. I’m glad He gives us the freedom to pursue Him before he responds to our needs. I’m glad that He reveals our needs as He heals us tenderly and carefully and only when we’re ready, one level at a time.

The abuse I endured as a child and teenager I kept hidden like a dirty little secret that formed a foundation for every other sinful thing I did in my life. Somewhere in my heart, I truly believed that I must have deserved what had been done to me. I had started engaging in self-abuse long before I could understand what I was doing.

I began to abuse alcohol at the age of 12 and experimenting with drugs followed. Convinced that I was good for nothing more than providing sexual pleasure to men, I became promiscuous; seeking to fulfill what I thought was my purpose, and my only way to be acknowledged and valued as a human being.

I began trying to control my unmanageable life by controlling my weight. At the age of 37, I weighed 85 pounds.

But, who would think that all these events, these ways of living, and these heart breaks would ever be usable for the purposes of a Holy God? Wasn’t I like the woman caught in adultery - exposed, and filled with sin?

Yes, I was like her, but mostly in the way that when I met Christ, He said to me – “is there is no one left to judge you? Then neither do I.” When I began to surrender my very soul to him I began to see purpose in my past.

He has never forced himself upon me. At every new level He has in store for me, He waits for as long as it takes. I count on Him. I hope in Him. I trust in Him.

Am I over the past? It no longer has a stronghold in my life. I have forgiven where forgiveness was required and admittedly I forgave for purely selfish reasons. Do I remember the past? Who can forget being abused?

Do I still ask why? No. What matters most is not why but how. How can I use it to glorify him?

This year, He changed my name to Hope and so did I. This year I began to see in myself what He sees in me; I am Hope, I am filled with Hope. He is that hope that is in me and He uses my past to offer hope to others that they may see that He does not accuse or abuse, but that He loves unconditionally always and forever.

Today I freely choose to be completely his.

Hide and Seek

Having come from a broken and dysfunctional home, replete with abuse, I spent forty years searching for something I longed for to fill the void in my heart. In my adolescence and adult life, I still pursued what I would eventually come to believe was unattainable – to be loved unconditionally.

In October of 2003, I was completely broken emotionally, physically, and spiritually. I longed for peace and the only peace that I could fathom was one that came from death. On my knees, one afternoon, with no one to turn to but God, I knocked. I completely surrendered to Christ, in desperation. What I didn’t realize at the time was in my surrender came death. I died and began to live in Christ. He answered my knock, (Matt. 7:7). I have never looked back.

“I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me…Forgetting was is behind, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has call me heavenward in Christ Jesus,” (Phil. 3:12b-14). My life long search was for love. That afternoon, and every day since then, I see that which I sought was God, because God is love.

I’ll always remember where I came from and the condition of my life, and future, before Christ. The past serves as a reminder that no one should have to be without Love in their life. Being separated from Love affects our past; we walk through our present life carrying the burdens and consequences of our past.

Being separated from Love affects our present; we miss out on the opportunity to live in abundance and the opportunity to serve others. We miss the calling and purpose of our lives without Love; we cheat ourselves, and others out of the same.

God wants to prosper us during our lives on earth. He is a God that hides and wants us to seek Him with all our hearts. When we do this He promises that we will find Him. God is good and faithful to His promises. Being separated from Love affects where we will spend eternity. Life is short. Eternity is everlasting.

I was given a costly gift. My redemption, my salvation came at a very high price, but I didn’t have to pay that price; Christ paid it for me.

I cannot imagine anyone having to live the empty existence that I once lead. The expression of my gratitude was to stop hiding from Him and start seeking Him, pursuing Him as He pursues me. This is a life fulfilled. This is a full life.

The Healing Hand

In the book of John, Chapter 5, there’s a story about a man who had been paralyzed for 38 years who, when noticed by Jesus, was asked, “Do you want to get well?” I remember the first time I read this passage being completely stunned by the fact that the man did not immediately look up at Jesus and say, “Of course I do.”

Now, all this happened at the pool of Bethesda which was known for its healing waters. The man responded by telling Jesus why he couldn’t get well; he had no one to lower him into the water when it was stirred.

What I always wondered was, how did he get to the pool every day and how did he get home every night? Some friend, family member, or someone in the community, must have looked after his needs. So, why was there no one at the pool to lower him in? I’m sure if people cared enough to bring him there they must have offered to stay, at least once or twice.

If this man had been paralyzed for 38 years, I’m certain that he must have felt that he was a burden to people. Maybe his pride got in the way of his healing. Maybe he didn’t want people to know the extent of his dependence on others, so his life became filled with one day, leading into another, days unfulfilled leading to other days marked by loneliness and hopelessness. After 38 years of being physically dependent on others, he must have developed a need for spiritual and emotional healing as well. He wasn’t being who he was created to be.

I relate to this man more than I care to admit. My pride and stubbornness spent years minimizing the effects that drugs and alcohol had in my life. I kept telling myself I didn’t have a ‘problem’ and then I tried to prove it to myself. But, the beast had control of me. It wasn’t until someone asked me, “do you want to get well?” that I realized if I wanted to get well I’d have to stop making excuses and say yes.

I knew I wasn’t being who I was created to be. But with years of sickness massive walls were built to keep others out. Those ‘others’ were the ones who I blamed for my turning to drugs and alcohol in the first place. They were my abusers. Being sick that long really does make people spiritually and emotionally ill. Anger and bitterness fuelled my resentment. After a couple decades of keeping people out, it’s not only hard to let anyone in when you think you might be ready, it’s also hard to break out of the old cycles that make us willing participants in our own habits, hurts or hang-ups.

I once heard someone say that forgiveness is the most selfish thing that someone can do. It’s true. Jesus healed the paralytic but when He saw him later at the Temple He said, “Now you are well so, stop sinning or something worse might happen to you.” I was healed from drug addiction and alcoholism in rehab, but that was just a physical healing. It was incomplete. The real healing came from the inside when I decided that nursing grudges and the sin of unforgiveness was making me emotionally and spiritually sicker by the day. It was only when I asked for His help that held His arms wide open and took me as I was, dirty, grubby, imperfect and filled with rage, that the healing began – in His grip – just as I was. No questions asked. No judgment. All I had to do was ask and be a willing participant in a better life, the life I was created to live.

His hand is the Healing Hand.

The Battle of Addiction - Part 2

The reality of a mental hospital is this: people learn to sleep with one eye open – I may have been admitted because I was suicidal, but somewhere between being locked up and meeting all the other “casualties” I suddenly realized that I still wanted to live; I just didn’t know how. All I knew how to do was survive.

Suddenly, being a one-woman battalion wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. I spent a long seven days in lock up and another 21 days in detox. Those television movies where they show people detoxing are pretty much accurate. Days of withdrawals, fever and shaking was another sign that I couldn’t ignore. I had a problem. When I had expected my ex-husband to launch a counter-attack he actually planned a reconnaissance mission. He scouted things out with me over the phone – extended reams of grace to me – and brought our children to visit me. Explaining to my children what mommy was doing in the hospital for so long was my rock bottom. I couldn’t lie anymore. “Mommy is very, very sick and she’s staying here until she’s well so that she can be the mommy you both deserve.” Open eye – remove plank.

“I pray also that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you,” (Eph. 1:18).

One month at the mental hospital resulted in 28 days of physical sobriety. The next 28 days would be spent at a live-in rehab centre. I thought life at the hospital was tough. I equate rehab to what I imagine Westpoint Military Academy to be - boot camp was 28 days long complete with urine and blood tests, mandatory exercising and GROUP therapy.

In group therapy there were two rules: 1) no cross talking and 2) you must share (not any of that superficial stuff). I had gone a month without consuming drugs or alcohol, or even an aspirin. There was nothing available to me to keep all that “stuff” down. It was all starting to surface again: flashbacks, night terrors, nausea and depression. I was starting to lose control again. My addiction needed to be fed. My anorexia decided to rear its ugly head. Notwithstanding the eating disorder, I was able to make it through my tour of duty at “the Creek.”

Then came the after care – 90 meetings in 90 days. I despised those meetings. They liked to use the “G” word a lot. Oh, sometimes they’d try to disguise Him by using the term “higher power” but no one was fooling me. This was the period when every ounce of resentment, bitterness and anger (lots of anger) surfaced. I cannot even begin to explain the extent and depth of anger I had towards God. I blamed Him for everything, especially the fact that my children were motherless for two months. In my “rationalization” if I had not been emotionally, physically and sexually abused as a child and adolescent, I would not have needed to suppress all the memories with chemicals and therefore I wouldn’t have had to abandon my children. I saw God as my enemy and that lasted for the next 8 years.

I was physically healed from my addictions to chemicals, but I was always making a trade-off for some other habit, hurt or hang-up like smoking, exercising, bulimia, anorexia – you name it. My emotional growth was stunted and my spiritual growth was well – let’s just say there was no spiritual anything. I was dead inside.

“As for you, you were dead in your transgressions and sins, in which you used to live when you followed the ways of this world,” (Eph. 2:1-2).

Then came that day – a sad and desperate afternoon in October 2003. Thoughts of sitting in my foxhole and pulling the pin on the grenade were taking me captive. I couldn’t bear the thought of hearing that iron gate slam behind me again. I couldn’t bear the thought of facing my children and I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them. I was confused. I was alone and I was desperate seeking relief from living as a POW.

We met again – Him and me; me against Him. He didn’t look down on me and say, “Why didn’t you let me help you the first time? I could have spared you these last years.” I was shell shocked. My “adversary” was for me – not against me. He showed me mercy and compassion, grace and forgiveness. He reached down into the trench and picked up my bruised and bloodied body. “I know how to care for these wounds,” He said, “my Son went through much worse than this so you wouldn’t have to. Give me your heart and let me love you.”

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith – and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God,” (Eph. 2-8).

I was so tired and ashamed. “For he himself is our peace,” (Eph. 2-14).

This October I will celebrate more than recovery. I will celebrate that I have been rooted and established in His love. I will celebrate. I will testify. I will glorify. I will pray, “to know this love that surpasses all knowledge.” I will draw near to God with a sincere heart in full assurance of faith, cleansed from guilt. I will praise and acknowledge His ways. For when I put my foolish and prideful ways behind me, He was there. He is here always.

I don’t live in my past – I share that others might know the Hope I have. I pray that “you may grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ,” for you.

The Battle of Addiction - Part 1

In recovery they say that an alcoholic or drug addict will hit rock bottom before admitting they have a problem. Rock bottom is what wakes us up when we hit the floor. I think the same holds true for any hurt, habit or hang up.

The sad part about hitting rock bottom is that in this particular battle, when we arrive at this point, the troops have usually bugged out and we’re sitting alone in the trenches facing the truth, the whole truth and nothing but.

I was a one-woman battalion for what seemed to be a life time. I hit rock bottom in March of 1996. I was what professionals call a “functioning addict.” I didn’t abuse drugs and alcohol to get high. I abused them to stay normal – subdued. There were years of chaos and trauma that required suppression. I switched between addictions – drugs to alcohol – and back. Inside my heart and mind, I was a landmine just waiting to detonate.

No one knew about the abuse, but they certainly knew that there was something amiss. My behaviour and my perpetual melancholic disposition were battle scars that were impossible to hide. Instead of a cluster of stars I wore a badge that read, “Handle with Care.”

I was completely self-absorbed and my night vision goggles didn’t function well in the light of day. I remember that day as if it was yesterday – March 17, 1996. I walked into the office of my company’s Employee’s Assistance Program manager. I don’t think she could have ever prepared herself for the words that came out of my mouth when I entered her office: “If you can’t help me right now, I’m going to go home and kill myself.”

One hour later: Imagine the sound of an iron gate dividing a long, marble floored corridor slamming behind you as you are being confined to the Crises Unit at the local mental hospital. It was still all about me. I remembered a promise I had made to God about a year earlier and wondered if this was my punishment for breaking it. I was laying on a gurney in the ER room watching the nurses slide a board under the mattress of my bed. I watched the doctor lift the paddles and prepare to shock me as I tilted my head in that surreal moment, I noticed that my heart rate was reading over 200 beats per minute. I prayed, “God, if you get me out of this, I’ll never do drugs again.” He got me out of it. I reneged on my promise. Now, here I was – a year later - this time sitting on the edge of a hospital bed wondering wasn’t that rock bottom enough? Did I really feel the need to outdo myself? I wanted to make another promise but I had broken so many – I had a lot of nerve, just not enough to make the commitment. I didn’t really think He was talking to me any more anyway.

What would my children think? What would my ex-husband think? What would my friends and my employer think? What would my enemies think? I felt as if my skin had been peeled off my body. I was completely exposed and there was no turning back now, even if I wanted to. The iron gate was locked.

Sometimes when you think you’re at your bottom, you’ve only begun to scratch the surface. The battle continues in tomorrow’s post.

“In Him, we were also chosen, having been predestined according to the plan of Him who works out everything in conformity with the purpose of His will,” (Eph 1:11).