Now looking back, I see that God was accompanying me all along. God was supporting me through this journey in small but meaningful ways.
The scars from that memory will always remain with me. However, it was not meant to hold me captive. It encourages me to grow and allow myself to be transformed by letting go and remaining open to His story for me.
Only when I give myself permission to just be, in silence and stillness, to merely let thoughts arise and pass rather than just giving in to the clamor of my inner dialogue and the voice of the false spirit or my addiction to busyness, I can begin to notice the voice of the Holy Spirit.
I resisted the idea that just sitting beside God and listening is the right decision when there’s work to be done. I resisted a commitment to one primary ministry because it would require me to sit and listen, like Mary.
There was immense freedom in re-realizing that the world--even the little world of my immediate circumstances--does not rest on my shoulders.
My mom’s diagnosis opened me up to God’s time: a time to be intentional, forward-looking, a time to cherish those I loved.
I asked God to take away the angry reactions, the shyness, and the perfectionism. He did not instantly wipe these away, but instead, He allowed me to be imperfect as a way to draw me closer to Him through His mercy and compassion.
The “untruths” had no chance against the power of my identity as God’s beloved and His presence within community.
I held so tightly to a specific vision of love that I didn't even trust God to help me identify it, to help me wait for it, to remind me that it surrounded me.
Although I entered into this world as a receiver, I have found myself uncomfortable with receiving than giving.
I realized that perhaps this was God's invitation for me all along as I reflect on my life unraveled in front of Him.
I can never escape Your love.
God was suffering with me in the darkness. He was the gentle reminders of love, the light that guided me through.
Gratitude sustained me, and it is what remains.
I felt God intimating, "My love for you is so much stronger than what you perceive as your faults and failings."
Pain is like a drug though. When you use it too long, it poisons a person, and so it happened to me.
Ingratitude is my inability to see God’s magnanimity.
Rather than running from our failings, Mary embraces each of us with the tenderness of a parent comforting a sick child.
Nothing in God’s world is a mistake.
In stillness, I sense God's call for me to count my blessings.