"I'd rather know a hard truth than a pretty lie, because until you know the truth you can't do anything about it," I said in my innocent resolve to go to dark places with Jesus' light. And then, to my horror, God took me seriously, and in one year my pretty illusions were stripped away, and I was broken over the truth.
I wanted to cover me ears and weep; for innocence lost and stolen joy, for how like truth the whispers of a forked tongue feel, for how those whispers feed on silence and grow shame.
And yet, I hold to my naive resolve, because uncovered to light darkness is dispelled, secrets spoken banish shame, scars bared can finally heal.
Because I believe wholeheartedly in a God who kisses our scars, I cling fiercely to the hope that "maybe redemption is stories to tell, maybe forgiveness is right where you fell."
I feel the brokenness and mourn the pain, but I see first hand the redemption of broken stories told, the gift of going second in someone else's life, the glory of a God who is not content to remove the scars, but uses our darkest places to bring light, freedom from shame to another soul.