What would be the title of a book about your life?
This is quite a thought provoking question. I think I will take answering it as an opportunity to share a bit (or a lot) about myself. Gonna get pretty personal here, so bare with me…
The title of the book about my life would be:
From Mess to Blessed
My life was nothing short of a mess; tossed in wrinkled heaps, while I desperately and unsuccessfully was trying to iron them out. Husband number one, it turns out, wasn’t half as bad as what I had gotten myself into the second time. Then, with two children and no job, life seemed absolutely hopeless. Most days it was my kids that kept me sane, kept me happy and fulfilled my sense of purpose. But, there were those other days when I longed for the freedom of years gone by; late nights, alcohol and a plethora of friends. When promiscuity fulfilled my need for compassion and my affirmation was confirmed by the party-goers I surrounded myself with. But then, although I could still wear my tight shirts and short skirts, it just wasn’t the same dragging two kids around.
Trapped; bound by another marriage. I did my best to protect myself and my children. Even if I could escape, would the scenario just replay itself again? Maybe number three would be even worse. As I laid there on the couch, hoping to get through the night unbothered, and staring at the door leading to the beds where those two innocent bodies slept, I imagined a life far beyond my reaches; it was happy and I was safe.
Some might blame my poor and irrational choices on the circumstances of my childhood. My parents divorced when I was in middle school. To say the least, my father was abusive. I can still remember those nights cuddled up with my brothers, seeking just as much protection from them as they were from me and listening to my mother weeping. I have vague memories of being whisked off in the middle of the night and waking up in the living room of those nice people; they had a daughter and she taught me how to make friendship bracelets. My father is in prison now. He raped a thirteen year old girl. My mom’s second marriage ended when “that guy” was caught molesting my sister. My sister is mentally disabled.
So there I was lying on the couch, saddened at how closely my footsteps resemble the path of my mothers, and longing for the life I could only dream about. I was without hope and unable to discern any meaning to this painful progression of existence. There has got to be something more. It just didn’t seem possible that this was all there was. And so, I began to search.
I met God that fall. Blind, sinful and shamed I heard Him call. In my dissolute state, God revealed Himself to me and my life was forever changed. His embrace filled me with hope and purpose. He gives me strength and endurance. In Him I find peace and assurance. His truths have paved a new path and His steadfast guidance has been my safe haven. How blessed am I to have been given all that I have after all I have been. Number three is God sent for sure. He has adopted my babies and God has blessed us with two more. It’s strange to recall the life I used to live. But the state at which God accepted me in is so vital to my faith today. It is what humbles me when I begin to boast and what brings me joy in the midst of fear. It is where I find compassion for the lost and hope when faced with tribulation. It filters my interpretations and persuades tolerance. It constructs my image of God Himself and validates His worthiness of praise. Even now, when I stumble from God’s path He is merciful and without hesitation forgives me of my imperfections. This God that I have come to know loves me still, through my weaknesses and my sins. I am reminded again, how blessed we are, what a glorious Father we have.
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come. 2 Corinthians 5:17