It rears its ugly head at the strangest times. Perhaps it never leaves the darkest recesses of my mind, this knowledge that I was once unloved.

Thrown away, forgotten.

Will I ever forget?

The first cut is the deepest.

As a girl, the truth never settled into my soul. It was deflected by the barriers of the temporary love that unbelieving parents can only give. Later, my rebellious teenage heart ripped holes in those walls of protection. The reality came pouring in fast, eager.

The constant questions were catalysts for destruction.

Why wasn’t I good enough?

Will I ever be good enough?

Won’t someone just love me?

Oh, there were someones who answered that cry for love. Imitations. Poor substitutes.  Someones quick to whisper words with no meaning. My thirsty heart stretched to catch them, cling to them. Desperate for nourishment, I came up wanting every time. I ached from the effort of it all.  Then he came, bringing genuine, fiery love and the Word Made Flesh.  My heart was drenched in lavish mercy and grace. My insatiable appetite finally satisfied. Or so it seemed.

Nearly two decades have passed since my life was indelibly changed. Years documented in the lined pages of funky notebooks full of testimony to the faithfulness of the two most important men in my life, my husband and my Lord. I know without a doubt that I am, as my blog’s tagline declares, “A blasphemer, forgiven. A woman, loved.”

There are still nights when the quietness of a house slumbering gives way to the whispers of the evil imitator. He masquerades as a substitute for the Holy One. He picks at that hidden wound, stubbornly trying to reopen it. He taunts and pokes. His words gnaw and claw until I am bloody and broken.  The next morning, battered and bruised, I quietly make my way to the recliner tucked into the corner of the living room, the altar where I meet my Lord and find healing. His Word washes over me like a soothing balm, penetrating deep until it finds the scar freshly irritated.

In this the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent his only Son into the world, so that we might live through him. In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins. – 1 John 4:9-10 (ESV)

The Son willingly subjected Himself to a hurt much deeper than my own, wounds inflicted by the whip of my selfish pride and the nails of my disobedience. I close my eyes and I can see the ragged slices my razor-sharp tongue left behind.

I tremble with the knowledge that I, the accuser, should be the accused.

I wonder if I will ever understand this love that allows me to walk free. There, in the rustling of the pages, I find the Truth.  I am loved beyond anything my feeble mind can comprehend…recklessly, wildly, passionately. And even though a man of clay shirked his identity as my dad, I have a perfect Father who delights in calling me His child.

I will never be thrown aside or forgotten again.

By Melissa @ Breath of Life

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