Go Home

Once upon a time I went to church and they told the story of the prodigal son.

Which I have heard over and over and over, but I needed to hear once again.

And I heard there how he had run, and he had ended up with the pigs. Actual pigs. Living with them, wanting to eat what they ate because he was starving. 

And I looked at my life and I saw that I was there, with the pigs. That I had traded my values and all my self-worth for a false sense of security. I was in search of someone to want me enough to take care of me. Because I thought God had neglected me and I needed worth somewhere else. But I was sick of being with the pigs. I was tired of being cared about for all the wrong reasons. I was exhausted from the games and the emptiness and from hating life and from pretending I was okay, and that I was surviving.

So I got up.

And I’ve been walking ever since, trying to find my way back home.

And the shame and the guilt that has occupied my life, is starting to fade. Because I think I have finally realized that God does not just love me now, God loved me then. When I was still wallowing in the mud with pigs. God loved me at my very lowest, and I know how low my lowest was. And I hated myself there, but He still loved me, and others hated me there, but He still loved me.