how to not play the victim of your own life

“You think you’re a victim. But you’re not. You’re actually okay. Everything’s okay.”

Justin tells me this, in the maddening and awesome way that he does. My heart whispers, “Listen,” even though my first impulse is to wish this all away.

Really? Is this true? Have I believed I am a victim, God? How?

I need God’s interpretation now, or none of this is going to make any sense.

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the bright light of our testimony

A friend asks me a question that makes me consider my story. She knows it; I’ve told it to her, leaving nothing out. She worries that the sharing of my story might make a person more anxious, more worried about sinning themselves.

I am confused. Conflicted. No, actually . . . I am none of those things. . . I am resolved.

The story of God’s rescue of us is beautiful. It is what makes us beautiful.

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beautiful desperate

“You are not the forgotten one.”

I hear it–a statement, simple enough, from a Father who pursues. He wants this truth to sink in deep this time. He wants me to believe it: Achievement does not make any person more worthy of love.

“You are not the forgotten one. You are the chosen one.”

Oh, Father. Take this heart that doubts your truth. Kill it in me. Give me a new heart. Help me deny the temptations of this world.

Yes, something in us has to die to make room for God’s truth.

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