I write to you today covered in both recent wounds and faded scars, married to a man I have no feelings for, but I have hope. How? I couldn’t stand here on my own. On my own power, I’d be dead. (Stick with me - this will be explained in more detail in later posts.)
I wish my life wasn’t this way, but if it wasn’t this way, I couldn’t do what I’m doing. I couldn't try to reach out and help people like me, struggling with depression and numerous other mental health issues. I couldn't try to give people someone to talk to and uplifting posts from someone who really struggles.
And, eventually, even if it takes the rest of my life, I’ll see something good in this life. For now, it’s enough to know that my wounds, both fresh and faded, don’t define me. Jesus’s wounds define me. I am not perfect. I am not always happy. But I am His, and He will not let my pain be for nothing.
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