It's not like its anything new: I've known the truth since I was 16 and my mother informed me of just why my parents' divorce was as painful and complicated as it was.
But writing it out, placing the words of the past onto neatly typed pages feels like razors sliding up my chest, puncturing my body, hoping to drain my heart of all that's within it.
There's something about declaring the truth that breaks you to pieces, that feels like are in the moment when you saw your parents fall from your pedestal, collapsing on the floor in all their brokenness, with scars exposed.
And yet, putting words to the feelings, as painful as it may be, allows God to redeem the moment and lets him take the heavy lifting for the pain.
Lord, may the testimony of my life bring you the glory. At the end of the day, I do not want someone to hear my pain and offer pity. I merely want them to come crawling to you, asking for you to heal. Lord, you are the healer of my soul. The redeemer of my story. The center of my life. May all glory and honor be to you.
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