“I don’t want this to come out wrong,” My friend had started tentatively, leaning against the car window. “But I sense a lot of guilt in your voice. Like – you really haven’t forgiven yourself for the ways you have failed God.”
We were driving back from a quick trip to a neighboring city and her words pierced my heart like a sword and I felt the tears brimming. My friend looked at me and said, “Am I wrong in saying that? I just feel as if you’re carrying this burden… and I want you to be free. I just want you to be really free.”
If you knew her – if you knew her story – you’d be astounded at who she is after what she’s been through. You’d be amazed at the joy and freedom of her laugh in light of how she’s been hurt. And me – the one who tapes myself together with lipstick and heels and to-do lists – somehow she was bold enough to break through my blindness.
Because I didn’t even know I wasn’t free.