I am not proud of my past. I generally do not talk about it and so much of it seems to be a blur to me. Certain words or conversations will trigger a memory of some forgotten moment in time. I re-live that memory and then quickly file it away neatly into the recesses of my mind, but then there are moments when I intentionally pull those dusty boxes off of their shelves and remember that who I was does not define who I am today. It merely reflects the beauty of how much my savior loves me that he would pull me back out of the darkness.
In the midst of tragedies I see His light shine. See him drawing my friends, my family in the same way that he drew me. Calling them in their sadness to the hope that is so much larger than we could ever imagine.
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