There were many years of hardened armor placed upon this soul in a failed attempt to protect it from pain. The skin had lost it’s ability to breathe, slowly choking out the life that remained. Reality was I was dying and all feared there would be no recovery. I had become a dead woman walking, waiting for my final slumber.
Through many years of hurt and anger I recoiled and withheld my heart. All the while thinking I was strong behind my glittering mask until God showed me, me. I was too proud to expose myself in weakness and wanted to escape.
People had spoken words of death over me; words contrary to life. I would lose the battle that Christ had already won, if I allowed the curses to prevail. I had to shift my focus from the darkness and see myself from a place of victory, only allowing hope of life to be present. To get to that place I had to peel back the layers of hardness, exposing and allowing myself to be vulnerable and open to intimacy; not just with man, but with God.
I couldn’t save myself by just wishful thinking or being a good person. I was reminded that a “broken person” is the reason we need a Savior. For healing to take place, we must first be broken to the point of death in order to have new life. Not a physical death, but a surrendering of will.
Pain is universal, but yet it creates a personal prison. The spirit of fear, and spirit of rejection working together as prison guards, keeping us bound in a cell with the door wide open.