Memories can just be flat difficult to overcome.

I’ve spent the last week pursuing Christ in the book of John. I’ve said it once and I’ll gladly say it again, I am the woman at the well in John 4.

I have the been there done that wardrobe. I’ve sipped more than my fair share of this world only to find myself drunk on emptiness and desperation.

But by the grace of God go I.

As I revisit this Samaritan chapter, I feel the same creep of shame begin its subtle approach. Moments long forgotten. Years of darkness and wounding choices. And this time, I take that new memory of the past and capture it afresh.

I’ve learned if I can hold onto that thought and turn it over and over again in my hands, the Lord will reveal truth at every side. I whisper prayers for discernment and healing. And breathe his name into the memory.

I repent, again.

Wonderful, brilliant light now visits that dark moment. I remind myself, and the Lord, that this moment, too, was one that my Savior died for. I own every part of that nasty memory and confess my behaviors unworthiness to my King. I repent of sin against Him and then confess injury of all the others involved. I am grateful to no longer be shackled to those same sin patterns but perhaps even more grateful that even this memory past is not going to be lacking of His powerful redemption. And then I breathe in the forgiveness.

And the residual guilt it just doesn’t weigh as heavy as it once did. My Savior carries that burden, too. I ask for help letting go. But prayers serves me well, “Spirit, prick me if ever I take a foot down this path of destruction. I NEVER want to return.”

And He is faithful, the next time the memory returns, somehow, it has lost some of its sting. I am the one healed. My Lord? Well, He is the One lifted higher than even my memories.
May it always be so.
(Photo by Quyelen)

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