Something happened in me a couple of months ago.
I was pondering a few things as I casually prayed…when suddenly, I was done pretending I was fine when I knew that I really was NOT okay.
I mean, I was completely and totally done…I had had my fill of doing it by myself, only to be left scurrying around to gather up the pieces of my heart that kept getting blown all over the place when my efforts failed…again.
I was so tired of smiling when I wanted to cry…laughing when it hurt to even breathe…isolating myself when what I needed was a therapeutic group hug from the people I love most in the world.
And as I accepted that I was done, I found that I was completely and totally undone…and it was there that I met God, again, for what seemed like the first time.
Let me give you a little history on me…
Saved when I was 7 years old, Jesus became my superhero…the Jiminey Cricket to my inner Pinocchio…a voice I knew and trusted…but as life got increasingly harder to take in, it was a voice that I learned to ignore.
Rededicated when I was 14, Jesus became a fire that ignited my heart and mind to know Him and understand His word…a passion that faded when I realized I could put a “real-life” man up on His pedestal.
Re-engaged with Him again when I was 23, Jesus became the glue to my soul when divorce, single motherhood and addiction tried to rip the very life from what was left of my heart…a solution easily replaced by the sweet calm of a happy life with a wonderful, new husband and great friends.
So to be bowed down as I was now, at 37, I had to come face to face with the fact that it was here and now that Jesus became my Savior for the very first time.
As I stopped ignoring the elephant(s) in the room and let reality take over where the masks had hidden me away, I was finally letting Him complete the process that began with my tiny prayer of salvation as a 7 year old girl…I was finally allowing Him to be the Lord of my life.
Facedown on the floor, I let Him knock away every self-defense, pretense and idol that had taken up residence in my heart as I sobbed out every tear that I had stored up over the years. Powerless to help in any way, I watched the God of the Universe become my Defender as He rid me of every single life line that I had created to so many unhealthy things. As my mouth confessed what my heart shuddered to admit, He cleared out the temple of my soul and made me fully His.
That night in the kitchen, when the 7 year old me stood praying with my mom, slides into my mind’s eye as clearly as the night just eight weeks ago when the 37 year old me finally surrendered completely. Nights that are 30 years apart…and yet, intertwined as an intricate tapestry woven by the Master Craftsman.
…and it is only now that I can look back and fully rest in the fact that, no matter how much I may have missed seeing Him, He has never let me walk alone.
Looking up, as always…