I am the girl who loves fully but can also hate with utter passion anyone who hurts my loved ones. And far too often, I am the girl who refuses to let go of anyone’s wrongs. Instead, I find myself looking for ways to inflict the same — or greater — amount of pain in return. Of all my sinful tendencies, I would argue that this is the worst.
Over a year ago, my betrothed and I were burdened in our hearts to move to the desert of Phoenix. I knew God was leading us. I was told. I was affirmed. I was excited. The newness of it all wore off when we arrived and my electric blue Volkswagen Beetle burned my hand as I was shutting its trunk in the 122-degree weather.
I was a Sociology major in my undergraduate career. People always asked me what I wanted to do with a major that studied individuals and cultures. Every time I would respond that I wanted to go into social work. Now two years later I am one year away from receiving my Masters in Social Work. Already it has been a journey full of growth and understanding more about the biblical perspective of what it means to help people through their life story.
ran. I wanted to be far removed from the pain, but everything reminded me of the height from which I had fallen. Eighteen long months of struggling, being crushed down until there was nothing left to pulverize, trapped by fear in an abusive relationship. “Broken” doesn’t even come close to describing me. But I was not ready to take action, was not ready to let go of him; the only temporary fix I saw was isolation.