Jesus’ pursuit of us never stops. He chases us all throughout our lives and
desires to catch us no matter where He finds us. Regardless of our pasts, present, and future
lives, He wants us to know His undeniable and unmistakable love. I promise you that nothing is too hard for
Jesus. You have not done or been anywhere
that is a shock to Him. He can do more
than you can even imagine (Eph. 3:20) and I guarantee He will.
You may be thinking that this all sounds good for someone
else. You may feel that you have been
away from Jesus or messed up so badly that there is no way that He would pursue
you, let alone accept and love you. This
is exactly what the enemy wants you to believe.
This way of thinking keeps us separated from God and this is just what
the enemy wants for your life. Allow me
to share pieces of my story. I don’t
share to shame those intertwined in my story.
I offer you glimpses into my life and heart so that you will know
nothing halts Jesus’ pursuit of us. He
created you so that He could love you. In
fact, prior to creating you, He knew exactly what your choices and directions
would be. He loves you so much and
desires for you to know this fully. You did
not repulse Him prior to creating you, and you haven’t repulsed Him now.
My earliest memories begin prior to the age of five. They are not joyous ones, but rather ones of
shame, anxiety, and guilt. As far back
as I can remember, I was my mother’s mother.
I knew exactly how I was to behave and what I needed to say to protect
myself from wrath. I was very aware that
it was my responsibility to take care of my mother’s feelings. I was not to ever say anything that made her
feel uncomfortable. Sharing my hurts, disappointments,
and sadness was never to be done. I was
quite the actress. As early as age five,
I knew how to behave in such a way that kept my mother’s hurt feelings at
bay. She was the master of manipulation,
and she lived in a highly decorated world of victimhood. I understood I was considered a pain and a
bother. I was often told that my name
was mud spelled backwards. I heard this
phrase often. I was called a brat most
days. I was a shame filled child. Every time an adult looked at me or spoke to
me, I just knew they were thinking that I was a stupid, annoying child.
My parents divorced when I was two. My biological father was not involved in my
life at all. He expected me to reach out
to him and create a relationship. I was told
that he was an awful person and had tried to drown me because he did not want a
girl. I have no idea if that is true,
but it certainly stung every time I heard it.
Prior to his death about twelve years ago, he wrote me a three-page letter
on legal sized paper. He let me know
what a disappointment I was. He quoted
Scripture and tried to convince me that God, too, was disappointed in me.
I also encountered sexual abuse. As a young child, I would sleep with the
lights on and cover my head with the blanket.
I often put something in front of my bedroom door to alert me to anyone
trying to enter my room. Not only was I
the victim of physical sexual abuse, but I was also exposed to pornography and
sex talk.
As I grew into a teenager, I thought the only way to be
worthy was to have a boy say it was so.
Unfortunately, my world revolved around having a boyfriend. I did whatever I thought necessary to have and
keep a boyfriend. I’m sure you can surmise
the pain this caused me. My choices
harmed me in more ways than I was aware of.
I forwent friendships in pursuit of boys. I often spent time alone because I did not
create or establish healthy relationships with friends or boys. This would spiral me into believing I needed
to do whatever it took to have a boy notice me.
I was the girl no mom wanted her daughter to be friends or son to date.
As a young adult, I began dating my husband. It is more than fair to say that we were both
a mess waiting to explode. We married a
year after college, and within our first few months of marriage we got pregnant
and had our first child. He was a beautiful
child who stole my heart instantly. By
the time he was three months old, he was diagnosed with a congenital heart defect. His first surgery was when he was six months
old, and his second surgery occurred when he was four. By this stage in my life, I was a crumbled
mess. I had major anxiety that I could
barely control. I was critiqued and criticized
often for it. I felt more alone than
ever. I was afraid to take my eyes off
my son. I could barely catch my breath
and function. I felt more alone than
ever. I suffered two miscarriages prior
to our son’s second surgery. The second
miscarriage happened when I was four and a half months pregnant. I cried often and struggled silently as I
cared for my young child. I found it almost
impossible to function. As time went on,
I was told by many people who should have been there for me that I needed to
get over it. I was informed that I was
weak and being self-centered.
Praise God, we were blessed with two more wonderful
children. There were several times when
my children were young that I contemplated suicide. I truly believed that my husband and children
would be better off without me around. I
felt I hindered their lives because of my struggle with anxiety. I felt that I was a bother and unlovable. In fact, I can remember writing out my
obituary and who my pall bearers would be.
The love I had for my children stopped me every time from going through with
it. When I would think upon my inability
to follow through with it, I berated myself for even stinking at being able to
successfully kill myself.
Not too long after I received the letter from my father, I
completely shut down and lost it. My oldest
son was in junior high, and my daughter and youngest son were in elementary school. My children were upstairs and I was
downstairs cleaning the kitchen. A
feeling of pure disgust for myself completely overtook me and I began throwing
dishes. I was crying and didn’t have to
ability to stop myself. I was in such pain,
but yet so numb. I clearly remember
sitting down on the kitchen floor and struggling to breathe. I cannot explain it, but I felt a presence
cover me and hold me. It felt like a large
human had wrapped his arms around me and was soaking in my pain. When I think upon it, I can still vividly
recall the physical sensations it caused.
My crying quieted. I didn’t hear
any spoken words, but I felt that I was being told it was going to be okay and that
I was loved. I remember quietly
repeating, “I just want a daddy”. I
believe Jesus was there and comforting me.
Not long after that, I was invited to a Bible study at the
church where my youngest son attended Pre-K.
I was so nervous that people would know my past and think I was a fake. Something inside of me urged me to go
anyway. Upon hearing God’s word, I was
hooked. I couldn’t, and still can’t, get
enough of His words and His love. He has
used me to share His love with others, and I still sometimes quietly say to
Him, “Really God? Me?” I was such a mess and so broken. I was sure I was beyond repair and not worthy
of any kind of love. Jesus thought differently. He pursued me until I said yes. Looking back upon my life, I see glimpses of
His presence and protection. He never gave
up on me. He never thought me too messed
up and used up to forget about me. I can
now confidently say, “I am by beloved and He is mine” (Song of Solomon 2:16).
I have prayed that YOU will be convinced you are worth catching. Jesus sees you, loves you, and wants you to be
His. He longs to feel you take comfort
in Him. He desires to show you how deeply
He loves you. He looks forward to the
day that you and He are in deep relationship with one another, and you talk with
Him all day long. I pray that the words
you read and study throughout the coming weeks will transform your heart and soul. May you know you are worth catching and
loving. Be caught, by friend!
With deepest respect and love,
