The past 36 hours have been hard. Yesterday I found myself in the same spot, at the same time of night, where I’d first been told I was loved by the other man. Where I’d first told him that I loved him.
All kinds of memories came back. Everything hurt again.
Last night a friend turned up at my door with this
It’s my jar of truth. There are 50 pieces of folded paper in it which all have truths about me written on them, and they are for me to pick out and read when I can’t think of the good things about myself. What a gift. I chose one last night, but this morning I pulled out and read every single truth in that jar. I needed to remember. I needed to remember that I am a daughter of the King of Kings; that I am raising fantastic children; that I am choosing life away from ‘the numpty pool’; that I am fighting off lies with God’s promises. That I am brave.
I was walking my dog a few hours later when it occurred to me that the difficult feelings returned after I went back to church last weekend. I worshipped God in community. I said that strongholds were being broken. Clearly that got me some attention from the enemy who prowls like a lion looking for ways to devour us. I have no doubt that the last few days have been a concerted effort to push me off the path that I’ve chosen. I realised that I am still in a battle. It’s been bloody so far, with casualties, and it is not over yet. I am on the side of the Victor but I need to keep the armour on. I spoke out loud the armour of God. I carried the sword of the Spirit, ready to cut down my attacker; the breastplate of righteousness to protect my heart; the helmet of Salvation tells me that I am saved already; the belt of truth holds me against the lies; the shield of faith is my defence which will prevent me from being overcome, and the shoes of the gospel of peace will enable me to keep walking the right path.
I was back. I was fighting.
Only 3 hours later, I found myself wandering a shopping aisle overwhelmed with sadness again. Memories swept over me.
Come on God, you’re supposed to be helping me with this. It’s a wonder I haven’t lost my faith. How am I supposed to keep trusting? I felt myself pressing in. You’ve got to hold me Lord.
I arrived home, and was on the verge of doing something regrettable. I checked the post.
My Father has done it again.
A hope gift through the mail.
Arriving just when I needed it.
It came from a friend who has read this blog. The Hope tag came from a Good Friday service – it was taken from the cross – a reminder that Jesus paid the price. The bracelet has a cross to represent faith, a heart to represent love, and a butterfly to represent hope – because hope transforms us in the way that a caterpillar is transformed into a butterfly.
The butterfly card said ” praying you may experience the transformation that comes from hope through faith in a God of love”.
So once again I am crying. This morning at 5.15 am I was having a facebook conversation with a sister in Christ in the US. I showed her the photo that is at the top of this piece – the butterfly floating on the pond. I wrote that I had been drawn to photograph it last week. I didn’t understand why, but I wanted to think about it today. As I walked in the park I prayed that God would show me the meaning of the beautiful butterfly.
Love came down, in the actions of two people who followed the promptings of the Spirit, and hope was found at the moment I needed it most.
The words of this Gungor song came to my mind and this is what I need every day. Each day can be a brand new start, whatever has gone before.
Love came down and hope was found
Life began again
A brand new start
Yeah a brand new start
The promise of a brighter day