Really there is no way I can describe the journey I have endured but that I was dead and my faithful savior rose me from it . I pleaded daily for this to occur at once but it was slow with long days of silence. I would awake and count the minutes till I could return to sleep as my pain was endless and the suffering was unbearable. Nobody asked how I was doing anymore because the paleness and emptiness in my soul spoke before me. From a therapeutic point I knew that I needed help so like a good little therapist I went and sought one. I sat there wailing in tears and rage wanting to strike my maker at the same time clinging to HIM because he was my only friend. Jesus was the only one at night that stroked my heart to keep beating and gave me dreams that it would get better, I would be better. At times he would speak through my infant whispering to me that this is all for a reason and that I would survive. Months later my eyes were awoken to a beautiful scene of a mother who found her way back to her baby, a mother who accepted that suffering shapes us, and life is not our own. A mother that has never enjoyed giggling with a baby more than now, a mother who appreciates the small voice letting me know that I am not a failure. The enemy has left my home and wandered somewhere else for now because like Job, God was protecting me the entire time but like Job and his abundance, I had to lose it to know what I had, I had to painfully suffer so I could taste someone elses wound, be more aware, I had to be closed in so I would be more accepting, I had to surrender so I could feel the risen of Jesus and the heaviness of his tomb being lifted from my body and truely understand that I have been saved.
