“Say to those with fearful hearts,
‘Be strong, and do not fear, for your
God is coming to destroy your enemies.
He is coming to SAVE you.’”
Isaiah 35:4
On Easter Sunday, 2007, I was baptized in the name of Jesus Christ. What that means to most is subject to vary in definition, but I believe it to be a symbolic representation of what the crucifixion meant for humanity, and more personally, for me. When I was submerged in water, I was dying to my flesh and washed clean of my past. Once I emerged, I was resurrected, as from the grave into a new creation.
Four years later, here I am. I have never looked back. Following Christ hasn’t been easy, but I can’t imagine my life apart from Him. I always thought that as long as I stayed by His side, I would be safe from who I was – someone I don’t even recognize anymore. I always thought that as long as I was good, He would work things out. Four years later, I’m left with two broken relationships wrought with adultery, an eating disorder, an absent relationship with my father, and a multitude of mistakes. In the eyes of the world, I’m a failure. Surrendering your life to Christ doesn’t mean that you have everything figured out, it just means that you have Him by your side while trying to figure it out. I found that I was always afraid to approach Him because every new robe He clothed me in came back in tattered rags. Why would He still want me after I had made His goodness filthy? Then I remember who my Savior is. Then I remember that He holds us even closer when we’re wounded, dirty, and worthless. . .because He was once there, too, for me.
He saved me,
But He continues to save me every single day.
A couple of days ago, I was asked a very specific question,
“Tiffany, has anyone ever fought for you?”
My immediate response was nonverbal. I just cried. I cried, a lot. And cried, and cried, and cried. I sifted through my memories of disappointment and abandonment. But I thought it was okay. It was okay because if I kept fighting that it wouldn’t matter whether or not I received it in return. I would continue doing that because it hurt too much to be disappointed in people. It’s easier to be abandoned when you expect it, when you believe that you weren’t worth the fight anyway. It doesn’t matter.
The day after, I was asked the same exact question in a separate conversation on a separate topic and from a different person.
“Tiffany, has anyone ever fought for you?”
Again, I cried. I felt as though Dad was trying to say something to me.
“Yes, it does matter. I’ll prove it to you.”
The next night I felt very weighed down. I felt like my heart was filled with cement. I saw everything with very hateful eyes. My team attempted to draw words out of me, but I couldn’t get any words out. It was hard for me to breathe, and I felt as though every limb of my body was burdened with sadness. Before my team prayed for me, I heard voices telling me that I should kill myself and shouting in my head telling my teammates to shut up and I cringed as they laid their hands on me. I felt my past creeping in, calling me worthless, disgusting, filthy, murderous, adulteress. As they prayed, the tears became more intense, and so did the lies. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what had come over me. As they prayed a second time, I closed my eyes and saw black webbed figures carving out my heart, but then God came with His obliterating light – and the darkness lifted. As it lifted, so did the fear. Then I heard Him say,
“I have always fought for you.
I will never stop.”
