Category Archives: Forgiveness

Apr7

Trusting God’s Sovereignty Instead of My Fear

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Trusting God’s Sovereignty Instead of My Fear

I’ve always been terrified of the idea of marriage, mostly because I was afraid I’d have to have sex. But I’ve come to realize that maybe it’s better to follow God and let His sovereignty reign in my life than it is to let myself be ruled by fear.

For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind. ~ 2 Timothy 1:7, NKJV.

I came to this realization after reading a book called Danger In the Shadows by Christian fiction author Dee Henderson. It’s about a woman, whose name is Sara, who was kidnapped with her twin sister as a child, and now as an adult, the kidnapper, who was never caught, is still stalking her, so she lives in constant fear that he’ll find her and kill her.

Her sister died before they were found during the kidnapping, so now, as an adult, she’s made the decision that she can never marry or have children, because she doesn’t want to expose her children to the kind of danger and pain she was forced to experience when she was a child.

She’s a Christian, and she’s trusted Christ her whole life (Henderson quotes Scripture throughout the story), but she can’t quite bring herself to trust God enough to allow herself to marry and have children because she can’t predict what God will permit in her life. He might allow the same thing to happen to one of her children that happened to her, and she’s positive she couldn’t handle that.

As I was reading the story, I became conscious of the fact that I was doing the same thing as Sara was (interesting that her name was the same as mine, but spelled different ~ my name is spelled with an “h” and hers is isn’t). All these years, I’ve lived a sexless life because I’ve been terrified I’d have to have sex if I ever met someone and got married. I’ve never allowed myself to contemplate even liking a guy, much less going out on a date with one.

On the other hand, there’s a big part of me that’s positive there’s no man on earth who would want to go out with me ~ but that’s beside the point. I wasn’t going to give anyone the chance to reject or like me. I’ve always been too afraid to try either way. There was one time many years ago that I tried going on a date with a guy ~ one date, and he turned out to be a slimeball and a jerk. I told him very specifically that I didn’t want him to touch me, but he decided no meant yes, and tried to kiss me.

Needless to say, that didn’t go over well!

And as far as I was concerned, he had proven my point that all men were like he was: jerks and slimeballs who were insufferable and reprehensible, and should be avoided at all costs.

That was back then.

Fortunately, I’ve grown since then, and I’ve come to realize he was human, and a sinner just like me, who needed salvation. I’ve learned to see him through the eyes of Jesus, and I’ve been able to forgive him. But until now, I still haven’t been able to allow any guys to get close enough to me to consider going out with any of them, much less take it any further than that.

So what to do now? What are my next steps? I really do want to change this! I saw McT today (Tuesday, April 1st), and he suggested we spend some time working on some inner healing next time, and that sounds like a good idea to me. Maybe if I can allow Jesus to come into some of the scenes that are so upsetting to me something will change.

So now, this is Sunday, five days since I saw McT, and you won’t believe how incredibly busy and chaotic my life has been since then. First, my car was stolen on Friday. My roommate and I were planning on taking her dog Minnie to the vet on Friday afternoon, so I went downstairs to get my car out of my garage, only to find the garage door open, and my car gone.

The minute I saw the garage door was open, I knew something was wrong, even before finding out that the car was gone, because I never leave the door open. So just the fact that the door was open was enough to tell me that something was amiss, and then when I looked inside and saw that the car was gone ~ well, then I started to pray, because I knew someone had stolen my car.

The first thing I prayed was that God would bring my car back to me, and then I asked God to forgive the person who stole it. And then I went back inside my apartment, because obviously we weren’t going to be taking Minnie to the vet, because my car was gone and we had no transportation. Then I called 9-1-1 and reported the car stolen, and they said they’d send an officer over to take a report. After that I called my insurance company to file a claim.

A sheriff’s deputy from the San Bernardino County Sheriff’s Department arrived at 5:17 p.m. to take a report on my stolen car.

Almost four hours later, at 8:40 p.m., I got a call from the Pomona police department saying they had found my car, and they said it was still drivable.

It was gone less than four hours, and it was still drivable!!! How cool is that?!

God is SOOO GOOD!!! He is so good to me!!!

I was able to pick it up Saturday morning from an impound lot in Pomona, though I did have to pay about $500 to get them to release it. And here’s the funny part: the person who took it washed it and cleaned out the inside, so I got it back in better condition than it was before they took it.

Another interesting point is that the thief left a couple of backpacks and duffel bags full of clothes in the car, as well as two pairs of Air Jordans, some drug paraphernalia, and several pairs of needle nose pliers.

And the coolest thing of all is that I was able, with God’s help, to maintain my peace throughout the whole ordeal.

You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You. ~ Isaiah 26:3, NKJV.

I don’t want to make it sound like I’m some kind of super spiritual person because the first thing I did was pray after I figured out my car was gone, because I’m not. I mess up ALL the TIME. It’s just that prayer has become a habit for me whenever something goes wrong. I do it almost without thinking, and it’s gotten to the point that it’s not just a last resort.

16Rejoice always, 17pray without ceasing, 18in everything give thanks; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. ~ 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18, NKJV.

So what the devil intended for evil God used for good, and I am so grateful!!

I don’t know how I managed to end up talking about my car, when I started out talking about inner healing during my therapy. But maybe it does connect, because it’s all about God’s sovereignty, and how it works in my life.

YIPPEE!!

Jan24

Writer’s Block Is Not a Block of Writers…

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Writer’s Block Is Not a Block of Writers…

…though it might be nice if it were, because then I’d have people around to motivate me to write. I’ve had the hardest time even wanting to write, which is unusual for me, because I love writing. Committing my thoughts to (computer) paper is one of my favorite things to do, and when I can’t do it because I’ve lost the desire to write is frustrating and heartbreaking all rolled into one.

But I have to do something!! So maybe I’ll just sit down and write. Write what? I don’t know, but I have to do something to break the logjam! So I’ll write whatever comes into my head, or maybe I’ll use some of my poems. That’s what I’ll do, I’ll use some of my poems. The first one is called The Murder of a Soul.

Many eyes watching, but ignoring
the obvious pain, the visible wound.
Many ears hearing, but denying
the silent scream, the cry of agony.
Many people knowing, but spurning
the knowledge of the murder of a soul.

But…

Though eyes ignored, the stars saw.
Though ears denied, the rocks heard.
Though people spurned, God knew
and wept.

S.A. Kuriakos & Elliot
©July 14, 1990

I wrote this poem after I figured out that I started picking holes in my cuticles when I was about two years old because I was trying to get someone, anyone, to notice that I was in peril because of Harry’s threats and abuse.

O earth, do not conceal my blood. Let it cry out on my behalf. ~ Job 16:18, NLT.

I couldn’t use words because Harry had told me he would kill me if I told anyone what he was doing to me, and he played Russian Roulette with one of his revolvers between my legs so I would understand that he meant what he said.

There was no way that I could know at two or three years old that the gun had blanks in it, so I believed him, and had to become a liar as a result. I forgive him for ruining my reputation! It took many years before anyone would believe that I wasn’t a liar, when I had no choice but to lie if I wanted to stay alive!

I forgive him for planting terror in my heart! I forgive him for being a monster!

And then there’s this little ditty, called simply Time.

Time.
A broad subject from beginning to end.
Irretrievable, irreplaceable commodity.
The only substance
present since just after God.
Visibly invisible,
invented by God
to forever
and indelibly
remind us of our mortality
and His immortality.

S.A. Kuriakos & Elliot
©June 21, 1990

And then there’s this lovely little poem written by one of my alters named Courtney, who was about three or four years old. She was very sweet and quite lovable. It’s called Things I Like. And because she was such a little girl her spelling and grammar weren’t very good at times.

I like ice cream.
My tongue becomes chocolate
for awhile.

I like butterflies.
They flit through the air
like rainbows dancing.

I like pussywillows.
Ther small furry kittys
on a stick.

I like crayons.
I can draw pictures
of inside my heart.

I like bears.
Ther fuzzy peple
safe to love.

I like hearts.
Maybe one will love me
someday?

S.A. Kuriakos & Courtney
©July 15, 1992

I wrote all these poems a long time ago, while I was still multiple. It would be another ten or more years before I would be integrated, and once I was integrated, sadly, I was no longer able to write poetry. For some reason that gift was lost once the alters who did that were integrated into the whole of who I am. I’ve always believed that writing poetry was a gift from God, and I’ve asked Him repeatedly to be able to do it again. I guess maybe I just need to be patient. On the other hand, the poetry was always used as an outlet for our pain, so maybe I need to be willing to give up that purpose to God, as well as be willing to accept another reason and motivation for its use.

And last but not least, there’s this one, called Remember Lot’s Wife, or Pillar of Salt.

Never look back,
your past will only haunt
and regret you.

Sweat drips
in salt-bloody heaps,
as I strain forward
while looking backward,
and run into trees on the way
because I can’t see the future
for looking at the past.

A pillar of salt is my destiny
unless I learn
to keep my heart looking forward.

S.A. Kuriakos
©January 23, 2025

Cool! I guess I’m not done writing poetry! I just finished that poem myself, without benefit of alters. Granted, I only edited the last couple of words, but it’s a start. It’s a start! Thank you Jesus!!

I started writing this post with the goal in mind of ending the long period of writer’s block, and just the fact that I was able to get as much down as I did with all the poems is very pleasing to me. But I like to end my posts with Scripture, so…

12Not that I have already attained this – that is, I have not already been perfected – but I strive to lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus also laid hold of me. 13Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself to have attained this. Instead I am single-minded: Forgetting the things that are behind and reaching out for the things that are ahead, 14with this goal in mind, I strive toward the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. ~ Philippians 3:12-14, New English Translation.

Jun20

Trust. Trust?? Trust Who? Trust What?

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Throughout the long time that I’ve been dealing with chronic diarrhea, I’ve been praying for God to heal me, but all I’ve really gotten from God was Him telling me to trust. Just trust. And I’ve gotten to the point that I’m frustrated and discouraged and disheartened, because my activities are severely limited and so is my diet. Just about everything I eat causes an attack of diarrhea, or so it seems.

My doctor suggested maybe I had developed a sensitivity to gluten after the surgery on my knee last January, so I bought a lot of gluten-free food. I’ve been eating it, but I can’t really tell if it’s making a difference, because I still have episodes sometimes. I don’t have any of the symptoms of Crohn’s disease except for the diarrhea (no skin rashes, abdominal cramping, or bloating).

Another issue that’s cropped up because of the diarrhea is the problem I have with taking showers (there are times after a particularly bad attack where I have no choice but to take one). This has been an issue for me for a long time because one of the main places Harry (my biological father) abused me was in the shower. The first abuse memory I had was of him forcing me to have oral sex with him in the shower when I was about two years old. I’ve had memories of him making me have sex with his friends in the shower, and him paying them money for the experience. It was never very much money, usually a dollar or two, but money always exchanged hands. It was the fatherly version of human trafficking. So, as you might guess, I don’t like taking showers, because oftentimes when I do, I have flashbacks.

I think the point of the money was to let me know that I was of very little worth to him. He sold me to his friends in the amount specified, never more than a couple of dollars. One time it was $1.53, and he told me that was what I was worth to him. Thankfully God has shown me conclusively that Harry was lying about that, though in his mind he was telling the truth. I don’t know why he hated me so much, but I forgive him. And I forgive the men with whom he forced me to have sex as well.

I’ve tried to figure if he was disappointed because I wasn’t a boy, or something like that, but if that was what his problem was, the genetics of my gender were his responsibility, not mine! So if he’s going to hate anyone it should have been himself, not me! Talk about projection!

I forgive him! And I forgive them too!

I’m reminded that Jesus was betrayed by Judas Iscariot for thirty pieces of silver.

14Then Judas Iscariot, one of the twelve disciples, went to the leading priests 15and asked, “How much will you pay me to betray Jesus to you?” And they gave him thirty pieces of silver. 16From that time on, Judas began looking for an opportunity to betray Jesus. ~ Matthew 26:14-16, NLT.

The point in bringing up the stuff about the shower is that everytime I have to take a shower now, I feel like God is bullying me into taking showers again, because I went for a long period where I didn’t take them. During the quarantine I wasn’t going anywhere, and it was just easier to not take them because when I did I had flashbacks. I can’t smell anything except gardenias and jasmine, as I got punched in the nose when I was in the seventh grade, and it did nerve damage, so I have to ask my friends if I want to know anything about what smells good or bad, or if there’s any smell at all.

This diarrhea has been going on for so long that it’s hard for me to know who to trust ~ or not trust ~ at this point. There are times when I’ll have an attack, and then I’ll have another one on the heels of the previous attack before I’ve even had time to leave the bathroom. Yesterday was like that. It feels like my body has turned into a leaky sieve and it’s impossible to plug it up. And the thing is, I don’t understand why God isn’t answering my prayers and healing me. I’m just supposed to trust. Trust what?? Trust who??

AARRGGHH!!!

O wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death? ~ Romans 7:24, NKJV.

I feel like a modern-day version of Psalm 88,

1O LORD, God of my salvation, I cry out to you by day. I come to you at night. 2Now hear my prayer; listen to my cry. 3For my life is full of troubles, and death draws near. 4I am as good as dead, like a strong man with no strength left. 5They have left me among the dead, and I lie like a corpse in a grave. I am forgotten, cut off from your care. 6You have thrown me into the lowest pit, into the darkest depths. 7Your anger weighs me down; with wave after wave you have engulfed me.
Selah
8You have driven my friends away by making me repulsive to them. I am in a trap with no way of escape. 9My eyes are blinded by my tears. Each day I beg for your help, O LORD; I lift my hands to you for mercy. 10Are your wonderful deeds of any use to the dead? Do the dead rise up and praise you?
Selah
11Can those in the grave declare your unfailing love? Can they proclaim your faithfulness in the place of destruction? 12Can the darkness speak of your wonderful deeds? Can anyone in the land of forgetfulness talk about your righteousness? 13O LORD, I cry out to you. I will keep on pleading day by day. 14O LORD, why do you reject me? Why do you turn your face from me? 15I have been sick and close to death since my youth. I stand helpless and desperate before your terrors. 16Your fierce anger has overwhelmed me. Your terrors have paralyzed me. 17They swirl around me like floodwaters all day long. They have engulfed me completely. 18You have taken away my companions and loved ones. Darkness is my closest friend. ~ Psalm 88:1-18, NLT.

I included the whole of Psalm 88 because the Psalms are really wonderful at describing how you’re feeling, especially when life gets really bad, and Psalm 88 is perfect for that. It’s the only psalm where there’s no positive note at the end. All the other psalms have a reassuring, encouraging note at the end, but not Psalm 88. The only thing positive about this psalm is that the psalmist doesn’t stop praying.

So I think I’ll leave it at that. I would appreciate any prayers from my followers if you feel so lead, because I’m in a pretty bad place at the moment, in case you can’t tell.

Thanks in advance! I love you all!

Jun1

A Time for Every Purpose Under Heaven

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1To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven: … 7A time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; 8A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace. ~ Ecclesiastes 3: 1, 7-8, NKJV.

The purpose of this blog is to educate people about the horrors of child abuse, and in particular sexual child abuse. There are a number of lies out there about what children experience when they’re being molested, and this is a big one.

This is going to be a hard post to write because it’s about a difficult subject. It’s hard for me to talk about and it’s difficult to write about, but I have to make the effort, because I need to bring it out in the open. As it says in the verse I quoted above, there’s a time to keep silence and there’s a time to speak. I hate what was done to me, and it’s time to talk about it.

Over the past couple of weeks I’ve been having flashbacks of moaning and grunting and groaning, and I couldn’t figure out what it was ~ if it was even a flashback. But then I remembered people telling me that if it felt good when Harry raped me (Harry is my biological father), all that was happening was that my body was reacting naturally to being sexually stimulated. Then I realized that my body wasn’t feeling pleasure as he was raping me. It was feeling pain. It HURT!! I was a small child and he was an adult male. My body was far too small for his adult-sized body parts. Then as he was forcing himself into me, and I was groaning from the pain, I could see him smiling.

Smiling?? Why was he smiling? Then it dawned on me: he thought I liked it. I liked it?!! I don’t THINK so!!

Knowing that Harry was so selfish and out of touch with my needs made me feel incredibly angry. It made me angry then and it makes me angry now, but I know I have to deal with it and forgive him.

I’ve been trying very hard to NOT deal with this memory since it came up. I’ve procrastinated on working on this post for days on end. It’s too painful, and it makes me too angry at Harry. It also makes me angry at my mother because she did nothing to stop him.

I don’t like feeling angry. It makes me feel out of control. But I know I have to get this dealt with. If I don’t take care of it then it will fester like an old wound that gets infected and fills with pus, and I really don’t want that. So I have to stop dithering about and just do it, regardless of how bad it feels, because, as it says in the Psalms, tears may last for a few hours, but with the new day comes joy.

For His anger is but for a moment, His favor is for life; weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. ~ Psalm 30: 5, NKJV.

I really want that joy, and I really want to please God, so I’m going to finish working through this memory, and forgive Harry and my mother, so I can publish this post.

I forgive you, Harry! I love you, regardless of what you did to me! I want the best for you!

I forgive you, Mom! I love you no matter what! I want the best for you!

Joy comes in the morning, and I pray that morning is here!

22Through the LORD’s mercies we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. 23They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. ~ Lamentations 3: 22-23, NKJV.

Aug27

No Such Thing as a Mistake

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I’ve been wanting to learn how to paint, and I even went so far as to tell my cousin, who’s a professional artist, that information. She responded by ordering some art supplies from Dick Blick, which was really cool, but which kind of scared me, because that meant I actually had to produce some artwork using the materials she sent me.

I love doing art, but I have an ambivalent, love-hate relationship with it, and with anything creative ~ making art, performing music, etc., etc. Doing creative activities fills me with fear because of the spectre of Harry threatening me if I make a mistake.

Whenever I would practice the piano as a child, if I made a mistake, Harry would stand behind me. But it wasn’t just that he was standing behind me. He stood behind me with no clothes on. His private parts were right at eye level, and he would snarl at me, “Do that again and you’ll regret it!” in a low voice so that only I could hear him. And because he was standing there naked, I knew what the punishment would be for my mistake: I’d get raped.

So I froze. I couldn’t go on practicing because I was so terrified, at which point Harry would hiss, “What are you waiting for? Keep on playing! Keep on playing!” My fear level was so high, the likelihood of another mistake was just about 100%. It seemed like Harry wanted me to do it again just so he could rape me. He was just looking for an excuse.

Even now I can feel the terror that I felt back then, and I want to weep for that little girl that I was, but as much as I want to hate Harry, I can’t, because I know God loves him as much as He loves me, so I choose to forgive him.

I don’t remember what happened after that, but suffice it to say that I’ve always had a hard time playing classical music, as much as I love doing it. Worship music is easier once I get going, but I haven’t played any music at all for many years, and artwork is also difficult for me for the same reason. I’m terrified I’ll make a mistake.

I was talking about this with McT during my last session, and the thought occurred to me that with God there’s no such thing as a mistake. Mistakes are under the blood of Christ. They were dealt with at the Cross, and I don’t have to be afraid of them anymore. Now I have to figure out how take that idea into my heart so I can act on it and actually begin to make art.

That’s the puzzle. That’s the conundrum. How do I act on it and begin to make art? I think I just have to step out in faith and start!

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. ~ Hebrews 11:1, NKJV.

It’s funny. I don’t have a problem doing counted cross stitch, even when I make mistakes and have to frog something I’m working on (frogging is when you’ve made a mistake and have to rip something out; you know, rippit rippit rippit), which is what’s happening with my current project. It’s a sampler by Long Dog Samplers called Jouissance, and it’s really beautiful. I’ve provided a link to it so you can see a picture of what it’s supposed to look like, but I might include a pic of it here as well, partly because I’m using a different colorway than what was originally called for. I’ve tried everything I can think of to make the images here smaller, to no avail, so what you see is what you get. They’re both a little blurred and larger than I’d like, but I think you can get an idea of what it looks like.

The Original Version of Jouissance

As I said, I’m having a problem with this project, because I discovered last night that I’ve miscounted, so I’ll have to frog some stitches or else my count will be off for the whole project. Fortunately I’m not that far along, but it’s annoying that I have to rip out these stitches because it’s the second time I’m having to do so. I miscounted it in the same spot a couple of days ago because I keep mixing up which end of the chart is up.

My Version of Jouissance

SILLY ME!!

I’ll have to label the top of the chart in big bold letters so I can’t make the mistake again, because I really hate having to frog my stitches! It slows my progress and it can be discouraging if I let it get me down.

I’m not sure why cross stitching is different than other kinds of creativity as far as my ability to do it without fear, but it is, and I love doing it.

It seems to me that mistakes in artwork can be thought of as creative variances or differences. You can use them to explore new creative pathways and experiments, and I’m thinking maybe that’s what I should do with the art materials my wonderful cousin sent me. I should play with them and have fun with them. If I can do that with them, then maybe learning how to paint with them won’t be so scary, and it’ll be easier to experiment with them like I’ve been thinking of doing.

For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind. 2 Timothy 1:7, NKJV.

That’s all I can think of at this point, so I think I’ll stop here. If nothing else I have to frog those miscounted stitches on my project so I can start making progress again. Oh well! But at least I caught the mistakes early so it won’t take much effort to fix them.

Onward and upward!

Apr10

Through the Eyes of Jesus

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I’ve come to realize that everytime I look in the mirror I have two choices. I could see myself as Harry, the devil, and the world would have me believe that I am, or I could see myself as God sees me. Satan and the world, working through Harry, tried to convince me that I was ugly and worthless. But God thinks I’m beautiful, and He valued me enough that Christ was willing to go to the Cross and die to save me from my sins. And since God is smarter than Satan, and He’s certainly smarter than Harry was, I think I’ll stick with God.

But the LORD said to Samuel, “Don’t judge by his appearance or height, for I have rejected him. The LORD doesn’t see things the way you see them. People judge by outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.” ~ 1 Samuel 16:7, NLT.

It took me many years to be able to come to that conclusion. I had to wade through a whole lot of pain and emotional sludge before I was able to reject what Harry had beat into me every day of my life, and believe what God said about me in Scripture.

There’s a saying that says beauty is only skin deep. Well, I beg to differ, because God, Master of the Universe, Creator of All Things, says otherwise. Whoever said beauty was only skin deep was ignorant. More to the point, they had their eyes focused on the wrong things. Skin-deep beauty is only what you can see on the surface, but there’s so much more underneath that. As 1 Samuel 16:7 says above, God looks at the heart, and I think that’s where the true beauty lies, for it’s out of the abundance of the heart that one speaks.

“A good man out of the good treasure of his heart brings forth good; and an evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart brings forth evil. For out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks. ~ Luke 6:45, NKJV.

One can read beautiful poetry or speak deadly curses. The one will create positive feelings, and the other will cause sadness and depression

"Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes,
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries."

Those four lines are from Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s poem, Aurora Leigh, and I think they are some of the most beautiful poetry I’ve ever read anywhere. They talk about God’s presence everywhere on earth, whether you see Him or not, and if you choose, you will recognize that He’s there, and everytime I read those lines I think beautiful thoughts, and God shows me new things from His Word.

How cool is that!!

2There the angel of the LORD appeared to him in a blazing fire from the middle of a bush. Moses stared in amazement. Though the bush was engulfed in flames, it didn’t burn up. 3“This is amazing,” Moses said to himself. “Why isn’t that bush burning up? I must go see it.” 4When the LORD saw Moses coming to take a closer look, God called to him from the middle of the bush, “Moses! Moses!” “Here I am!” Moses replied. 5“Do not come any closer,” the LORD warned. “Take off your sandals, for you are standing on holy ground. ~ Exodus 3:2-5, NLT.

As far as the negative is concerned, I’ve heard enough evil, gloomy, bleak, and fearful stuff from Harry and my mother to last me into eternity. All that negative input made me hate myself. It also motivated me to become self-abusive, and it drove me to consider suicide. I tried it nine times, but thankfully I was unsuccessful. At the time I was mad. I thought, “Geez! I can’t even kill myself right!” But now I’m so glad my efforts were ineffective. I’m excited to be alive, and in love with Jesus, my Lord and Savior.

If only everyone could see themselves, as well as other people, the way God sees them! It would make such a difference in people’s lives, and in the way culture is played out. People would be able to see the true beauty in the people around them, as well as themselves, and things like plastic surgery would be much less common, or maybe not even be practiced at all.

So those are just some thoughts I’ve been thinking about, with Resurrection Sunday on my mind (it was yesterday), and being grateful for all that Jesus Christ did for me on the Cross and three days later in His Resurrection, and all that He continues to do for me every day. Any gratitude I express now can’t come close to what I really feel, but I’ll say it anyway, because I can’t keep silent about it.

Yet true godliness with contentment is itself great wealth. ~ 1 Timothy 6:6, NLT.

God has blessed me with such abundance that I can’t even describe it, and I am SOOO GRATEFUL!! God is SOOO GOOD!! Thank You Jesus!!

Sep28

Younger Me Gets Wiser, Part 2

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Welcome to the promised continuation of Younger Me Gets Wiser, Part 1.

As I said at the end of Part 1, I want to talk to Catherine Belinda about the lying we were forced to do throughout our childhood because of Harry’s threats.

Everyone knows it’s a sin to lie. The Ninth Commandment is about lying,

You must not lie. ~ Exodus 20:16, TLB (The Living Bible).

The New King James Version puts it this way,

You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. ~ Exodus 20:16, NKJV.

So when Harry started telling us we had to lie about what he was doing to us or he’d kill us, he put us between a rock and a hard place, so to speak. And he showed us he meant what he said by playing Russian roulette with one of his revolvers between our legs. At age two there was no way we could have known that the gun had blanks instead of real bullets in it, so we lied because we were terrified of that gun and we were horrified at Harry and his threats, so we became compulsive liars as a result. But we hated having to do it, and we hated Harry for forcing us into it.

I know God hates lying. He always, ALWAYS tells the truth,

God is not a man, so he does not lie. He is not human, so he does not change his mind. Has he ever spoken and failed to act? Has he ever promised and not carried it through? ~ Numbers 23:19, NLT.

So in our minds, when we told lies, that meant God hated us. So Harry must have been telling the truth when he said that. It certainly made sense at the time.

But I have to tell you, Catherine Belinda, God does not hate you. He doesn’t hate you for lying, or for anything else for that matter. God doesn’t blame you for lying. He blames Harry, because Harry forced you to do it. You didn’t have a choice, and God knows that.

And the cool thing is, God, in His great mercy, engineered a situation when we were in the fifth grade, after Harry and my mother had separated, that made it so we were able to stop lying. And this situation is a perfect example of Romans 8:28,

And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to His purpose for them. ~ Romans 8:28, NLT.

What happened was this. I was walking home from school one day, and I was carrying a heavy load of books, because I had a lot of homework to do. As I was walking, I heard footsteps behind me, and then suddenly, someone grabbed me from behind, and as he gripped my arm, he hissed, “Ah, I’ve got you!” in a weird, creepy voice.

I gasped and jerked away, and as I pulled away, I half-turned so I could see what the person looked like and what they were wearing. It was an older man with light brown hair, and tan clothes, and he was wearing a vest. Then I ran away, and as I was escaping, I heard him laugh with this maniacal laugh.

With his sinister laugh ringing in my ears, I ran from him as fast as I could, given all the books I was carrying.

My mother had given me strict instructions on the route I was to take on my way to and from school but it was boring, so I hated using it. However, on the day the guy grabbed me, I wasn’t thinking about anything other than finding the fastest route to get away from him. That turned out to be the direction my mother didn’t want me go.

When I looked back I could see he wasn’t following me, so I slowed down and heaved a sigh of relief. By that time I had reached an intersection where there were stores and businesses on all four corners, and up and down both sides of the street. As I was standing there trying to figure out what I should do next, a friend from school approached me. Her name was Amy* (name changed to protect her privacy), and she asked me what I was doing. So I told her what had happened ~ that someone tried to kidnap me as I was about to walk home from school.

At first she didn’t believe me ~ I was making a pretty shocking claim after all ~ but as I continued to tell her what happened, and I described what the guy looked like, she began to accept my story. Then she suggested I go home with her so I could tell her mother what had happened. Looking back, I don’t remember why it was important to do this, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

So we went to Amy’s house. The problem with doing this is that getting there required going through an alley that my mother had specifically and expressly forbad me from using because she said it was dangerous. But I didn’t know any other way to get there, so we went through the forbidden alley, and nothing happened, so I decided my mother must have been wrong.

Then we arrived at Amy’s house, and I told her mother about the guy grabbing me, and she asked me if I had told the police about it. I hadn’t thought about doing that, so I told her, no, I hadn’t. Then I asked her what time it was, and she told me it was about five o’clock. That scared me because all of a sudden I realized I would be two hours late getting home, which meant my mother would be really mad at me. So I left and headed for home as fast as I could go.

When I arrived home it was about 5:15, and as expected my mother was steaming mad.

“Where have you been? Why are you so late,” she berated me, because there was absolutely no reason on earth why I should be getting home so late.

“Mom, a guy tried to kidnap me on the way home from school,” I told her.

“Are you kidding me? That’s the biggest lie you’ve come up with yet,” she scoffed at me.

“Mom, it’s not a lie! It really happened! I was leaving school and this guy grabbed me! I was able to pull away from him, but it really did happen. He tried to kidnap me,” I tried to convince her, but it felt like a losing battle, given the amount of lying I’d done over the years. But Harry was gone now, so the need for me to continue lying was no longer there. The problem was, I couldn’t seem to stop.

“Then I should call the police so they can try and catch him. What if he does this to someone else,” she said.

“Call the police? I hadn’t thought of that. You’re right. He should be arrested so he doesn’t hurt anyone else. Plus, I want him to be caught for what he did to me. It was really scary!” I answered.

“All right, I’ll call them. In the meantime, I want to know what happened,” she replied.

Relieved that maybe she was finally beginning to believe me, I began telling her what had happened. I told her about the guy grabbing me by the arm, and what he said to me, and how scared I was, and what he looked like. And I told her about his weird laugh as I escaped from his grasp and ran down the street. Then I told her about running into Amy, but I didn’t tell her about going through the alley or going to her house. I knew that would make her really mad.

“And that’s what happened, Mom,” I stopped, hoping that finally she would believe me.

Then a policeman arrived to take a report of my story. I described what had happened to me, starting with where I was when the guy grabbed me ~ across the street from my school, and what he looked like ~ light brown hair combed straight back with no part, and what he was wearing ~ tan clothes and a sweater vest with buttons down the front.

Then I told him about running into my friend Amy, only I left out the part about going through the alley, and going to her house, because I was afraid of my mother’s rage if she knew I had done those things. It didn’t occur to me that if I had just told the truth about everything it might have made my story about being grabbed more believable, but I was too frightened of my mother’s anger to be able to think about anything else.

Then the policeman REALLY scared me when he said he was going to Amy’s house to see if her story matched mine. Since I knew it wouldn’t because she would tell him that I had gone home with her, I knew I was in real trouble now. It was bad enough to be caught in one of my lies by people in my family, but to be caught by a policeman? The thought of that absolutely horrified me. Even thinking about it filled me with shame and self-hatred. It didn’t matter that the whole reason I lied in the first place was because Harry had forced me into it. To be caught in a lie by a policeman was so unspeakably awful that I couldn’t describe how bad it made me feel, plus I couldn’t tell him why I lied, because that would expose Harry ~ and those threats still loomed large in my mind, even though he was gone.

So the policeman left for Amy’s house, and returned about half an hour later. He talked to my mother for about fifteen minutes, while I sat curled up in a ball in a chair, waiting for the axe to fall.

Surprisingly, my mother wasn’t boiling over in anger. Maybe that would come after the policeman left. Instead of yelling at me she sat down next to me and waited for the policeman to talk to me.

“Amy’s story of what happened was different than yours. You knew it would be, didn’t you,” he asked me.

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled. “I’m sorry I lied,” I added softly.

“Why did you do it?” he asked gently.

“Because I was afraid Mom would be mad at me if she knew I’d gone through the alley, and gone to Amy’s house,” I responded.

“So did someone really try to kidnap you?” the officer asked.

“Yes!” I told him emphatically, “and he really looked the way I said he did, too! Everything about that part of my story is the truth!”

“Okay, then.” he said. “I hope you’ve learned a valuable lesson from this. Can you tell me what that lesson might be?”

“That lying is a bad thing to do,” I replied, “and I promise I’ll never tell another one!” I asserted vehemently.

“That’s great,” he responded. “I hope you’ll be able to keep that promise.” Then he said goodbye to my mother and left.

I was feeling a certain amount of dread, because I was afraid that my mother had been nice because he was there. Maybe he had been a mediating influence, and now that he was gone, the axe would fall, and she’d let loose on me with her rage because I’d lied and made her look bad in front of a police officer.

But none of that happened. She was unaccountably nice to me, and she didn’t get angry at me at all. I kept waiting for the other shoe to fall, but it never did. I wanted to ask her why, but I figured I should probably keep my mouth shut and just accept it rather than pressing my luck. Even so, I walked on eggshells the whole rest of the evening, just in case.

After I went to bed, I made a vow to God that I would never tell another lie. I slept very poorly that night, and I ended up in my mother’s bed, because I had nightmares all night long. I kept having this dream that someone was coming to get me, and I could hear chains clanking down the hall, dragged by kidnappers coming to chain me up. It was terrifying! In reality it was the dog’s collar clinking on the floor as she moved around in her sleep, but in my magnified imagination I didn’t know that. All I could think of was that kidnappers were coming to get me with their chains, and they were going to chain me up and torture me because I’d lied to a policeman.

As I look back on my childhood, and on this incident in particular, I can see God’s hand working quite clearly. At the time, if someone had suggested that God engineered that kidnapping attempt, I would have been shocked. I would have decided that God must be a mean ogre who does bad things to kids like me. But my thought process would have been the thinking of a child based on the fact that I couldn’t see the whole picture as God can. God can see the end from the beginning, as it says in the Book of Isaiah,

Remember the former things of old, for I am God, and there is no other; I am God, and there is none like Me, declaring the end from the beginning, and from ancient times things that are not yet done, saying, ‘My counsel shall stand, and I will do all My pleasure.’ ~ Isaiah 46:9-10, NKJV.

I especially like the way the New Living Translation puts it,

Remember the things I have done in the past. For I alone am God! I am God, and there is none like me. Only I can tell you the future before it even happens. Everything I plan will come to pass, for I do whatever I wish. ~ Isaiah 46:9-10, NLT.

What that says is that God could see the end result if I continued to lie (I would continue down that negative path, and could end up in some very dire circumstances if I didn’t stop). But He could also see the end result if He arranged a situation that would help me to stop lying, because He knew that I hated doing it, but that I couldn’t stop on my own. As I said above, it’s a perfect example of Romans 8:28,

And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them. ~ Romans 8:28, NLT.

So, Catherine Belinda, even though it felt really scary and bad when that guy tried to kidnap you on the street, it was actually a good thing that God allowed to happen. God was protecting you and wouldn’t have allowed the guy to do anything more than what he did, because the purpose of it was to get you to stop lying, and grabbing you was scary enough. God wouldn’t have allowed anything worse. The important part was when you lied to the policeman. God knew the shock and embarrassment of that would be enough to traumatize you into stopping. I wish you didn’t have to go through that, because I know how hard it was for you, but it worked, didn’t it? We haven’t lied since then, have we.

That’s the thing about the sovereignty of God, Catherine Belinda. He can see everything that will happen to us over our entire life, while we can only see what’s going on for a day or two. We don’t have the same perspective that God does. Because He can see what will occur over our entire life span from the beginning, He knows what needs to happen at certain points that, to us, might seem really negative because we can’t see the whole picture, even though they’re actually necessary for our life to follow the positive path that God has ordained for it.

And for some people like you and me, Catherine Belinda, because of the abuse we endured when we were little, God had to make some fairly significant course corrections so that we would end up where He wanted us to be. That meant He had to perform a number of miracles to protect us and help us stay alive when we were little, and then once we had grown up, He had perform more miracles so we could be healed from the multiplicity caused by the abuse, and become integrated into one. And the healing process is still ongoing, thank God.

I love you, Catherine Belinda! You were who we all were before we became multiple. You are a survivor! Without you none of the rest of us would ever have existed, and none of us would have survived, because Harry or my mother would have succeeded in killing us. Without you there would be no one to integrate with. I’m so grateful to you, Catherine Belinda, and I’m grateful to God for you! You are brave and courageous and beautiful and wonderful!

Most of all, I’m grateful to God for everything He’s done in me and for me. I can never thank Him enough for all that He’s done in my life ~ for the cross and the resurrection first and foremost, because that saved my soul, and then for protecting and watching over me throughout my childhood, and then for so richly supplying my needs now. And what I’ve said here only barely covers everything He’s done, and is doing for me!

God is SOOO GOOD!!!

Nov21

The Not-Angry God, or The God Who Is Love

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I learned something this week, something amazing. I learned that God isn’t angry at me, and He probably never was. Now, that might sound like a no-brainer to most of you, but it’s a new and important revelation to me. I’ve been a Christian for almost fifty years, so you’d think I would know that by now, but I didn’t. In fact, quite the opposite.

Let me explain.

As my readers may know, I come from a very difficult background. My father, Harry, was an angry and abusive man who told me that God hated me everytime he abused me. He also forced me to lie about what he was doing to me by playing Russian Roulette with his revolver between my legs from the time I was about two years old onward. My mother did nothing to protect me from Harry’s abuse, and she also tried to kill me a number of times during my infancy.

So I’ve spent the vast majority of my life being afraid, even terrified, of God, and believing He was angry at me. Harry had told me the lie that God hated me so often that it had become a truth that was ingrained in my nervous system, and I believed it with every fiber of my being. I’d never known anything different, so it was perfectly logical that I would believe that.

Fortunately God had something different in mind for me than being afraid of Him, because not only does He not hate me, but He loves me. And He’s been actively showing me just how much He loves me for the past five years. It’s actually been a lot longer, but it’s only been in the last five years that I’ve experienced the most active healing. (Actually He started showing me how much He loves me two thousand years ago when Christ went to the Cross and died for my sins, but that’s part of my larger story, and not for this post.)

I should probably tell you how all this came about.

When I was about five, I made an ashtray for Harry for Christmas. You know, one of those ashtrays made out of clay that kids make in kindergarten? It looked more like a large bowl, but it was supposed to be an ashtray. Harry was a chain-smoker, so I thought an ashtray was something he would like and be able to use. I painted it yellow with green polka dots. I was so proud of that ashtray! I worked so hard on it, and I wanted so badly for Harry to like it!

Alas, such was not to be.

When he saw it, all he said was, “Oh, that’s nice.” Then later, when we were alone, he said, “That is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” and he smashed it into little pieces. Then he hit me and told me I was stupid for thinking he would like such an ugly thing.

I was thinking about that incident earlier this week, only this time when I thought about it, it was very different. This time, when I saw Harry smashing the ashtray in my mind’s eye, I saw Jesus enter the picture and pick up the broken pieces. Then He took the pieces and reassembled the ashtray. I could tell Jesus was pleased with my offering. If I’d made it for Him, He would have loved it. And once Jesus entered the picture, Harry became irrelevant and disappeared. Jesus had such a look of love on His face! I’d never seen anyone look at me like that before!

When Jesus came into the picture, everything changed. All the anger and hatred and pain directed at me from Harry was washed away by the love on Jesus’ face, and by the fact that He was pleased with my gift. I was able to forgive Harry because of the love Jesus showed me.

We know how much God loves us, and we have put our trust in his love. God is love, and all who live in love live in God, and God lives in them. ~ 1 John 4:16, NLT.

I now know that the idea that God hated me truly was a lie. Even logically it makes no sense based on Scripture, as you can see from the verse quoted above. It’s impossible for God to hate anyone, because not only does He love, but He is love. I’m so grateful to God for straightening that out in my mind!

God is healing me more and more all the time, and I’m able to trust Him ~ and His love ~ more and more all the time. I feel excited every day because God is real in my life, and I wonder what new things I might learn about Him each day. Even when I’m depressed, I still feel excited ~ if you can imagine that mixture of emotions ~ because I know that God is active in my life regardless of how I feel. It makes me glad to be alive!

God is SOOO GOOD to me, and I love Him so!!

Nov1

Of Litter Boxes and Love

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Every once in a while I’m confronted with just how much I hate cleaning out Charlotte’s litter box. I hate cleaning it, and I hate changing the litter as well. You can well imagine that this is, by definition, a real problem, because cats need to have a clean litter box if they’re indoor cats, which Charlotte is. Otherwise they start doing their business, if you know what I mean, everywhere but the litter box, and I’ll leave the results of that fiasco to your imagination.

My frustration with the litter box comes from the fact that Charlotte pees on my bed if she doesn’t like the condition of her litter box.

How, you might ask, do I know that’s what my cat is thinking when she pees on my bed? Well, I’ll tell you.

The only time she pees on my bed is when I’m not cleaning out out her litter box often enough, and one could interpret that to mean that I’m not keeping it clean enough to keep her satisfied, so she punishes me by peeing on my bed.

She’s also peed on my cross stitch, and that’s a worse sin, if possible than peeing on my bed. I’ve put in hundreds of hours on this cross stitch, and I expect to put in hundreds, if not thousands, of hours more, and the thought that Charlotte could ruin it in one fell swoop simply by peeing on it fills me with…

Well, I’m not sure what it fills me with, but you can be sure it’s not good. So I guess I have to pray for God’s help to forgive her. And then I have to figure out how to get the stain out.

There’s a saying: dogs have owners; cats have staff. It seems to hold true in my case, and she’s only five months old. I’ve long had the feeling that whatever cat I own ~ that she actually owns me. You know, I pay the rent, but Lily, or Rosie (the cat I had before Lily) and now Charlotte rules the roost. And it feels like it’s especially true with Charlotte, as young as she is, because she feels like a baby-tyrant. And just so you know, I’ve only ever had female cats, except for Dennis the Menace when I was a kid, but I wasn’t allowed to choose him. My parents did that, because I was only five at the time. Other than Dennis the Menace, I don’t like male pets. They have too much visible equipment for my taste.

If I look at it from a more practical and logical perspective, I know that cats have a heightened and acute sense of smell. So smells most of us can barely notice are probably bowling Charlotte over because they’re so strong. So while I can’t smell her litter box even when I’m right next to it, she can probably smell the litter box downstairs when she’s in the loft upstairs. All of which says I need to put aside my own frustration and work harder to keep it clean ~ which I’m doing because I love her.

In an interesting aside, I’ve never been able to smell marijuana, and have therefore never been able to get high on it, something I don’t regret at all. When I was in college, I would come into the lobby of the dorm where I was living on a Friday or Saturday night, and the friend at the front desk would ask me if I could smell the grass as I was coming to the lobby from my room, and I would tell her I couldn’t. Her response was always that she was surprised, because the smell was so overpowering, you could get high just walking through the building.

Not only can I not smell marijuana, but I can’t smell much of anything at all, because a kid in seventh grade band class punched me in the nose for telling the teacher that they’d left the room. I was incredibly naive back then, and I didn’t know you weren’t supposed to rat on other students, so when A.S. (name changed and disguised to protect their privacy) left the room as the teacher was taking roll, I made the mistake of telling the teacher about it when he called their name. Then when they came back, someone else told them about it, and they came up to me and punched me hard in the nose because I’d tattled on them. My nose bled so heavily that day that my dress was ruined, and they had to take me to the hospital to have it X-rayed to make sure it wasn’t broken.

Fortunately my nose wasn’t broken, but my sense of smell was forever changed. About the only things I can smell now are certain flowers, in particular gardenias.

That was over 50 years ago, and I’ve forgiven A.S., but I still can’t smell much more than a few kinds of flowers. I’m okay with that, and if I’m stuck with a sense of smell that’s narrowed down to a few flowers and nothing more, then I’m grateful that I can smell flowers, because flowers are beautiful. Gardenias have a truly heavenly scent. I hope Heaven will smell like gardenias, though I imagine it will probably smell even more amazing and wonderful than that, even beyond my wildest imagination.

7 We speak about the mystery of God’s wisdom. It is a wisdom that has been hidden, which God had planned for our glory before the world began. 8 Not one of the rulers of this world has known it. If they had, they wouldn’t have crucified the Lord of glory. 9 But as Scripture says: “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined the things that God has prepared for those who love him.” ~ 1 Corinthians 2:7-9 (Isaiah 64:4), Names of God Bible.

I’ve wondered about God’s wisdom in giving me this particular cat, because I’ve had so many problems with her. But I’ve also wondered if I jumped the gun and got a cat too soon out of impatience, because I wanted a cat so badly. So maybe I got the wrong cat because I should have waited for God to send me the perfect cat ~ and maybe that’s why I’ve had so many problems with her. She certainly has tried my patience, that’s for sure.

So that’s the latest chapter in the continuing saga of Charlotte the Cat. She continues to be a mystery, because I don’t understand much of what she does, and she remains the cat with more energy than any cat I’ve ever seen or known. She is the busiest one cat I’ve ever seen. She allows me to be closer to her if I’m sitting on my couch, but she still runs away if I walk towards her. At least for the time being I’ve solved the problem with her peeing on my stuff by keeping her out of my bedroom entirely, and keeping her away from my cross stitch. My bedroom door is always closed, and my cross stitch goes with me wherever I go, or it stays in my bedroom behind closed doors.

God is good ALL the time, regardless of what’s happening, good or bad, in my life.

Sep25

Having Flashbacks In the Dentist’s Chair

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I broke a tooth yesterday, so I had to go to the dentist today. I didn’t have a dentist before yesterday, because I’m terrified of going to see them. Everytime you go to the dentist, they have to numb your gums, and everytime they do that, I can not only feel, but hear the POP of the needle going into my gums. It’s the creepiest thing, and it just terrifies me.

Until today when I was sitting in the dentist’s chair, I thought hearing the pop of the needle going into my gums was the only problem I had with the dentist.

Turns out I was wrong, very wrong.

So I was sitting in the dentist’s chair, and she told me to close my eyes as she was working on my teeth. I did that, but then I started seeing all these flashbacks. You know, Harry doing bad things to me. Only this time, the flashbacks were specifically about oral sex ~ I’m sure because the dentist was messing around in my mouth, forcing it wide open as she was drilling, etc.

Hence, the next time the dentist told me to close my eyes ~ once I could get a word in ~ I said I couldn’t because it made me have flashbacks, so she stopped suggesting it, thankfully. And as long as I kept my eyes open the flashbacks were held down to a dull roar ~ because once they’d begun, I couldn’t make them stop. I almost started crying, they got so bad.

I’ve known for years that Harry forced me to have oral sex with him. The very first memory I had back in 1980 was of him forcing me to have oral sex in the shower when I was about two years old. Then years later, I found a report from my pediatrician saying I had a rash around my mouth when I was about four, and I was fairly certain what had caused the rash.

And when I say oral sex, that’s exactly what I mean. Harry was forcing me to put his penis in my mouth, and my mouth was too small for it, so it made me gag and choke, which made him mad, so he started hitting me, after which I got confused and terrified, so I lost control of my bowels and pooped on the shower floor. That made Harry REALLY mad, so he picked up my feces and threw it at me, and then he forced me to eat it.

How can people be so beastly towards other people, especially towards innocent children? What did I ever do to him to make him hate me so?

I forgive him! I purpose in my heart to forgive him!

This was horribly difficult to write. It was a new memory, and it came up in public, and in a strange place, with people that I didn’t know, so I had no one with whom I could process it. I had to keep it all inside until I got home.

So I took myself to McDonald’s and got a Mocha Frappé to reward myself for adulting so well! Yay me! And more importantly, yay God, because I couldn’t have done it without Him. Throughout the appointment I was repeating a verse from Isaiah to myself,

You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You. ~ Isaiah 26:3, NKJV.

And then I personalized it,

You will keep me in perfect peace because my mind is stayed on You, because I trust in You. ~ Isaiah 26:3, personalized.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve used this verse to get me through a difficult situation like today, and especially once I started having those flashbacks. Being able to draw on the Holy Spirit, and the Father, and my Sweet Jesus by meditating on Scripture, as I did today, made all the difference.

As Jesus told the Apostle Paul when Paul asked Him to remove the thorn in his flesh,

“My grace is all you need, for my power is greatest when you are weak.” ~ 2 Corinthians 12:9, Good News Translation.

I was weak today, and I’m glad I was, because God is faithful and trustworthy. He always keeps His promises. He always shows up if we will only put our trust in Him.

I’m so glad I did!

Thank you, Jesus! Thank you, Holy Spirit! Praise God! God is so good!