Pondering on the past year, I’m reminded of just how far I’ve come. A year ago, tears tumbling down my ruined face, ravaged and starved, I confessed I was a hopelessly addicted to heroin. Lost, lonely, feeling deserted for the entirety of my twenties, I found hope in this confession. Within the course of thirty minutes, my world crumbled. I was fired from my job, thought I was headed to prison, and probably worst of all, I had to confess it all to my mom, dad, and two lovely sisters. I broke their hearts, and it broke me. It was brutal, yet all the while beyond beautiful.
Three hundred sixty five days ago, I threw up the white flag. I prayed, and pleaded, and bawled for God to help me. Desperation sank through my soul and I cried out that I would be willing to do anything He asked. “Lord, I’ll even sleep in a tent in Ethiopia, if that’s what you want. It has to be better than what my life has become,” I cried, tears flowing down my distraught face like a dam exploding. I was a sick soul in need of a Savior, and most of all, I knew it.
A year later – to the day – as I prepare to depart on this journey, I remember those words. God has a shrewd sense of humor and I sense his warm smile shining on me. The words I begrudgingly planted out of hopeless desperation have sprouted into desire of my heart. Only our God can do that. I reflect this morning, backpack at home, filled with wrinkled, smelly clothes and a tent. I’m ready.
As I relive the pain, desperation, and hopelessness I felt a year ago, a grin eclipses my face and I just smile knowing I’ve won the lottery, an heir to a fortune the earth can’t contain. My hopeful heart balloons so big it’s about to burst out of my chest, because I know I don’t deserve this and yet He’s given it to me anyway.
