And, this week we are talking about our relationship {or lack thereof} with God.
Now, don't stop reading. I'm not going to preach at you. In fact, I am going to share a bit of my story over the next few days and then share how God met me in my mess. Maybe it will speak to your heart or answer some questions you have about God. Maybe it will help you feel less alone. So, here goes- Part One.
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I remember the day I gave up on God.
I held the phone to my ear while angry, hot tears streamed silently down my face. As I listened and realized that I had been lied to for months by those closest to me, I made a rash and defiant decision. If no one was looking out for me, I was going to have to look out for myself.
I gently depressed the button on the phone so that my grandmother would not know I had listened in and started to pray.
Prayer was an automatic response to crisis for me. Prayer had been my constant companion in my brief 13 years on the earth.
This time the prayers felt empty. It was as if my heart’s cries were not being heard and I determined God must not be any more trustworthy than the rest of the adults in my life. Right then, in that moment, hurt and confused I decided God hadn’t been much help to me thus far.
I had done everything right. Followed every rule, memorized His word and His promises. What good had that done me?
A deep place in my heart turned to stone. I stopped praying and decided God and I were parting ways.
I slung my backpack over my shoulders, tossed my long brown hair out of the way of the thick straps and decided to go it alone. No more God, no more grandparents, no more foster care. I was going to figure this out on my own. I quietly closed the door of my adjoining hotel room, careful not to make any noise that would alert my {maternal} grandmother or grandfather to my departure. I walked out into the streets of a small town, determined to never let anyone hurt, betray or use me ever again.
To be continued….
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