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Testimony. That’s a word I never really understood, and I also never understood why it’s so important to hear another person’s story, their commitment to Jesus.
Really, I wasn’t much of a religion fan so I wasn’t too keen on listening anyways.
But I allowed myself to be dragged to church a few months ago and found an entire building filled with others who aren’t fans of religion either.
They’re fans of changing the world.
So my heart started softening and I started doing a little more praying, and I actually started to see my life as a conduit for love and goodness that could potentially save another person’s life.
I let go and let God, as they say.
And then something strange happened. The anxiety I’ve had since I was five just up and disappeared. I no longer had my depressive episodes, the night terrors where I spun out of my body and literally felt a terrifying presence with me in the room, telling me all sorts of vicious things. I no longer woke up wanting to kill myself and feeling like a failure as a wife and mother because all I wanted to do was disappear.
I know love now. And no, I’m not perfect, but my soul feels that way. I wake up now with a peaceful joy like a veil’s been lifted off my eyes, and I can actually see through the darkness that used to suffocate me.
Maybe this makes sense. Maybe it doesn’t. All I know is that it’s my truth, and I finally understand the importance of sharing it.
I no longer lament the darkness that tortured me, especially if it can be used to heal another person’s heart.
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