I pity the old me… the me that didn’t know what I know now.

She didn’t know the difference between conviction and condemnation…

Until the sword of the Spirit cut her free from the web of lies that held her captive.

She didn’t know that simply being a child of God and trying to please Him meant she had a massive target on her back…

Until the arrows started coming.

That old me, that little girl who promised God she would endeavour to “be good” from that special moment onward, if she was left to her own devices, would indeed be pitiable.

But she wasn’t left alone. The seed of faith, planted deep in her heart, wasn’t to lie dormant forever.

God sent people to love and tell her the truth. Whether they did it through face-to-face conversations, sermons, books, or songs, they watered that seed. They cleared away towering weeds that kept her in the shadows.

And she grew. Began to hear the Lord’s voice more clearly for herself as well as through others.

Her story – my story – isn’t finished yet, but it’s becoming clearer that I cannot keep what I know to myself. I must learn to speak though my voice trembles.

If wasn’t for those imperfect, fallible people who shared the truth with me, I wouldn’t be where I am today.

So whatever your sphere of influence is… don’t downplay it or waste it.

Let’s remember the old us and the hard but necessary truths we needed to be told.

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