Every day, as I’m being abused and living in so much dysfunction, I’m praying for it all to end.
Since I was about 8 years old, i knew there was a God. I wasn’t sure how He could help me. I wasn’t sure if He even knew who I was. I wasn’t sure if He could fix my situation. But what I did know was that I had to keep asking Him to help me.
I couldn’t see any way out of my situation or even a reason for living. At 12 years old, there were times that I thought suicide was the only way out. And still, I kept praying.
I went to a small bible study group in 9th and 10th grade. No one there knew what horrible things I was going through. I’m sure they thought I was just quiet and shy. I lived for that bible study. It literally kept me alive until the next week. It was one of the few places that I could feel safe.
At the age of 18, I joined a church. No one there had any idea how much I was hurting. I felt like they were my new family and there was no way I could tell them my shame. Still, I prayed for God to end my heartache. Even though the abuse was over, I hated myself. I hated my scars. I hated my lonliness.
Those prayers saved my life. Those prayers gave me hope. I didn’t understand God or faith but I always knew that I had to keep trying.
Over this past year, I’ve had to go back to that same blind faith. I wasn’t sure how to survive PTSD and I couldn’t see my way out. But I had to keep praying. I had to have hope.
It’s been hard. I’ve had to do a lot of work on me. I’ve suffered and hurt as if it was happening all over again.
And still I prayed.
I don’t pretend to understand how God works or why He allows things to break us at times. But I do know that where there is even the slightest bit of faith, there is hope. And hope is why I’m alive today to tell my story.
Until next time – I am being MJ every day.