Another Exceprt From My Coming Book...

With a father who was a pastor, I was in church basically from conception. I knew all the stories, learned all the verses, participated in RA's, Bible Drill, Sunday Night Training Union....all the things. I heard words of hope and healing every Sunday...I knew these words were meant to bring comfort and the promise of a brighter future, but somehow, I always assumed that message was meant for someone else. Those promises felt like they were intended for someone else's troubles, some else's pain. I felt distant and detaches...overserving as an outsider looking in. I understood what was being taught, but never really connected it with any deeper meaning. But now.... now, everything was different. I found myself clinging to the very words I once held so loosely. Life had thrown me unexpected challenges and God's word was literally all I had. The sermons I once barely listened to had become a lifeline...I found peace in the promises of healing and hope. Now I understood those words were always meant for me...their power was always within my reach...waiting for me to embrace them. The comfort I once longed for from a distance had now become a bright light in my darkness. I was no longer just a passive listener, but an active seeker...finding strength and resilience. It seemed as if the power of those words had finally ignited within me, and I was ready to face my struggles head-on, armed with a newfound faith and understanding.

The Psalms became my continual companion. Psalm 23, a comforting lullaby I'd often used as an illustration in worship or at funerals, now resonated with profound new depth. The "valley of the shadow of death" was not a metaphorical place...it was the dark abyss of my despair. The Shepherd's presence, his promise of restoration, these were anchors that kept me from completely giving into the tide. I would read, and reread, these words.... whispering them to myself like little secrets in the middle of the night. "He restores my soul..." The phrase now felt like a gentle hand on my weary heart.

Then there was Psalm 139. A psalm of intimacy and vulnerability often only used to talk about the sanctity of human life. No longer was this just a verse to prove a point about God's plan and love...this was a critical lifeline. "Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting." These weren't just poetic words; they were a desperate plea for honesty and healing...a prayer from deep within my soul. Psalm 139 helped me confront the darkness within me, the shame and self-loathing that had festered for decades. It was a permission slip to be vulnerable....to expose the hidden parts of myself I tried to hide for so long.

Next came Isaiah 40. What a majestic pronouncement of hope and comfort. This passage became a balm for my wounded spirit. "Comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem and proclaim to her that her hard service is over, that her iniquity is pardoned; that she has received from the Lord's hand double for her sins." These words resonated deeply and became a promise of restoration and forgiveness. I was exhausted and burdened by the weight of my past...haunted by betrayal I had experienced by the very people who claim to be Jesus-followers. But Isaiah's words spoke of a God who understood my pain, who saw my suffering, and who offered the peace I desperately craved.

Finally, I wasn't all alone in my struggle. The stories in the Bible were far from distant, dusty accounts...they felt intimately relevant to my journey.  Job, a man unjustly afflicted, resonated profoundly. His wrestling with God and his lamentations of despair mirrored my own struggles.

The book of Job wasn’t a theological dissertation...it was a raw portrayal of faith in the midst of profound suffering. This was a testament to the possibility of enduring faith even when life seems irrevocably broken.

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