Forgive Yourself: Let God Heal the Pastنموونە

A Story Yours to Tell

Daughter, where do you run? How do you doubt? What do you see when you look for Me?

Oh, girl, it’s not silence. No, it’s not empty space. No, it’s not memory failing. No, you don’t need to be smarter, quicker, a better listener. Maybe, you could be more you?

Please don’t run away from the girl I’ve made, hand-stamped with beauty, with talent, with a way to see Me and hear me unlike anyone else.

When I wrote your story, your beginning made me smile. You captured Me in how the details of your story were crafted.

You were held far before you were born.

Your story gives life with my voice. I know there are things you’d like to forget, details you wish weren’t part of your story. But the story is still beautiful, girl.

So, listen, how might we, together, look at your story through my eyes? I speak, and light appears. My hands crafted your frame. My breath is your breathing in and out. Let Me show you beginning again, and how the jagged points when you feel your heart breaking are places where you can be made even more beautiful and strong. the pruned branch grafted onto the vine.

I’ve never lost you.

You have always been in my sight, your story on my lips and the story yours to tell. To whom can you tell your story? Whom do I bring to you? Who needs to know what it means to breathe the beginning, breathe the story of Life?