A person breaks.
I have more times than I can count.
In the past, it meant I completely fell apart. The old negative tape kicked in. I berated and castigated myself. I further crushed myself for being weak, flawed, human. I felt so alone, abandoned, hopeless. I wanted to die, figured it would be for the best.
The pattern played a familiar song. I knew the verses. Change a few details, but it still played the same.
Stupidly simple boundaries were violated, again and again. No amount of asking for the merest respect resulted in any correction. Years of disrespect.
I lost it.
I reached my no more.
This time was different.
For the first time, I turned immediately to God’s Word. I opened to random pages. Sometimes, I saw the correlation. Other times, it seemed completely unrelated, except it wasn’t.
Over and over again, I saw God communicating with those who sought Him. It wasn’t always what they wanted to hear, but He never abandoned them, even when they felt like He had. It wasn’t the words that calmed my soul, it was the spirit embodied within those words. Letters on a page, combined thousands of years ago, to speak to flawed, hard-hearted, stubborn children.
I’m not different from them. I’m one of His. I finally recognized that I needed to not simply acknowledge that birthright, a birthright that became mine when I chose to accept Jesus Christ as my Savior. I finally recognized that I needed to claim the birthright as my own.
There were no magical revelations, no angels, no clarification of what I should do next. There were no voices, no visions, not even a glow on the page.
What I found was peace. A reminder I’m not the only one who struggles. A kinship with individuals thousands of years in the past who struggled, too. Who sought God, too. A connection with the ancient past. It offered hope because they made it through.
They admitted they weren’t proud of their “performance.” Like me. They lamented their sinful state. Like me. They thanked God for delivering them. Like me.