It’s not what you go through; it’s what you do with it.

We had a week called ‘Plumb line’ and it can’t really be categorized. We looked deep into our souls and found the ugliest parts that we were terrified of and never wanted to see the light of the day... And then we confessed them in front of our fellow students and 5 staff leaders! Talk about terrifying.

Along with that, our speaker said something that I hope to make a motto during my whole life: Humility is a willingness to be known for who you are. How many of us are really known for who we are? The honest person, the dark secrets and the things that we think isolate us from society. For many reasons I did not want this week to happen. For one, since I’ve already had so many moments of forgiving and letting go I convinced myself that I didn’t need any more of it and I would be okay now. I had worked on the really big, obvious things so I could serve God and the rest could be forgotten. Plus I still considered myself just a servant in God’s household. I wasn’t His daughter. I went to a service on Sunday afternoon with a ministry here called City Impact and the passage they talked about was the prodigal son. I’ve heard the story many times, but it had been a while since I heard it. As the man was preaching, he listed different stages that we could be in. We could be leaving with our inheritance, we could be staying to try and win our Father’s favor with work, we could be stranded in the far country, we could be journeying back, we could be walking up the road to our Father’s house or we could be getting that robe, ring, and sandals which symbolize that you are the son/daughter again.

I realized I was standing there in front of my Father and asking to return, yet refusing the robe/ring/sandals/daughterhood because I feel unworthy. I was standing there sobbing to be taken in by my Father yet unwilling to allow Him to hold me. In some ways, I still am. But I'm taking baby steps closer to Him and He is encouraging me every inch of the way!

Then this week, we learned about the cross and another point was brought up. There is nothing that Jesus did not die for. How often do we sing songs about Christ dying on the cross and all our sins being washed away and yet we still subconsciously (or even consciously) believe there are exception sins in us? Then again, maybe this is just me. (I rather doubt it though.) For many reasons, I believed I was the exception to God’s forgiveness. How could I fathom the extent He went to just to redeem me? How could I even begin to comprehend that He would never even dream of getting down off of that cross no matter how many times I do the same stupid thing? Can any of us ever truly understand how significant the cross is? It is the turning point of history; the up and up of humanity. Every time that I see a scene of the cross, no matter how great or bad the quality is, (it could even be on the stage with imaginary cross, nails, etc), I tear up. I can’t help it. I use to try to cover it up as façade that it didn’t affect me. But it does. And I’m no longer ashamed to say that. I sob to think of the pain my Lover had to endure because of the choices He knew I would make one day.

But it doesn’t end there. What a terrible story it would be if it did! We have such a hope in Christ. Hope. That word means a lot of things to me, mainly because for so many years in my depression and oppressive pain I was hopeless. I saw no joy in the world and my only hope was thinking maybe I could finally succeed in killing myself. I do not say this to get your pity, so please don’t take it that way. I remember the turning point for me recently was one night when I was really getting depressed. I was sitting in my favorite window seat, it was already dark, and my thoughts were as dark as the street the outside. Over and over in my mind I was contemplating all the ways I could relieve the despair I was feeling. I could cut, I could try to overdose somehow, or I could turn an oven on and stick my hand in.

These thoughts use to be my constant companions. I was listening to music and suddenly a worship song came on. It kind of annoyed me because I honestly didn’t want to think of Jesus at that moment. I didn’t want to try anymore, I was so tired. But it was like my fingers were lead and I just couldn’t make them move to skip the song. And then one word popped into my head. That “h” word: hope. There was a new voice battling the old familiar one in my head, and it said that I couldn’t give in because I knew the Relief now; the right Relief. After only a moment of hesitation, I jumped up and walked down to the basement where our sound system is. I plugged in my iPod and cranked up the volume until I wouldn’t have been able to hear myself speak out loud. And I let myself be overwhelmed with Light and Hope. This sounds like a rather romantic vision, but at the time I was in such strong turmoil... It’s true; I have the Light and Hope. However that does not make the fight any less real and the struggle any less challenging.

But ever since that night, when I’m struggling I know what I have to do and it’s not even second nature. It’s my first nature! Sometimes it’s hard when teams are using our basement for the weekend, or my back is hurting more than usual, but at least I’m trying now. I’m fighting. I don’t want to give up anymore, and even when I start to give in to those old familiar feelings, I have Someone who tells me: “Don’t worry, I have you.” And He is pretty great ♥