I spent the better part of my twenties running from God. I ran for so long I forgot what rest was. Solace disillusioned me, although I thought I was finding it in the arms of men, substance abuse, and lies.
But I always came home empty. I never found what I was looking for, though God knows I searched in every place I knew to look. Except in him.
When my husband and I got married, I knew it was time for a change. But I was ashamed to bring myself before my Creator, the One I’d run from for so long. How could he possibly welcome me the way I was?
I tried to clean myself up, to be presentable before the holy of holies. I straightened my walk, my mouth, my gait. I quit hurting myself with the things I knew where not of Him.
It was never enough. I was still stained. So undeniably marred and ugly.
In the midst of my depression and my utter loathing for myself, I slowly sensed his invitation. It become loader and clearer: Come. Come to me, child. You are welcome here.
In a word that says, “Do,” Jesus simply says, “Come.”
At first I resisted, afraid that I would disappoint Him or shame Him. But the pull was too great. I could not deny it any longer.
My birthday came and I knew it was time.
“I’m yours, Lord. I accept what you did for me.”
I knew there was nothing left to be done. The Spirit who would do the rest.
And the angels in Heaven rejoiced.
*Linking up with the lovelies at Five Minute Friday: Five minutes of free writing on one word. Today’s word was: welcome. Come join us.