Everyone has those days. The kind when all the truth you know seems outweighed by circumstance. When, despite having an unwavering understanding of God’s love for you, you still can’t silence your doubts. Those days when your misdeeds flood your vision, and the only truth in your universe is the soul-crushing reality of your rather sad existence.
One such day was a morning filled with all the untamed beauty of the cool Jamaican hills I am proud to call home. Looking across, I could see the city of Kingston, from the harbor to the stadium and beyond. It was breathtaking. Maybe I had trouble breathing because my dancer friend and I had finally reached our wall—our little spot where we sat and talked after completing our walks.
I found myself taking stock of all my failings, all my abused potential, and just how far I felt from God. From all appearances, I have nothing to show for my twenty-six years on the planet. I still don’t have a degree after several years at university, I’ve never ventured down the path of love and I’m quite often broke. My friend doesn’t always say much, perhaps because she is usually too busy trying to huddle her slender form as deeply into her sweater as possible. Whatever the reason, we sat there in the contented silence of shared hearts.
I looked down. There, in stark contrast to my black walking pants, was a pure white speck. It moved to my arm. It turned out my speck was not a speck at all, but a heart-shaped insect, not more than a few millimeters long. Now, I am not a nature lover and quite possibly the least girly female I know, so gushing is nowhere on my list of priorities. But, I smiled. From deep inside.
There, in the midst of my gloomy thoughts, was God whispering to my soul, using the most unlikely of methods. I looked up, beaming, knowing He had already heard my heart’s involuntary whisper: “Aww! I love You, too!” Yes, I had failed and my future looked far from bright, but He loved me—as I was, in that moment. He loved me! As He does now, as He always will. As He loves you.
The youngest of six girls from a Jamaican home with no TV until she was eight, Lori prefers reading to all other forms of entertainment. She is still somewhat hesitant about calling herself a writer, but has developed a deep passion for the art form. A proud weirdo, with a three-year-old for a best friend, Lori hopes to grow up one day. God seems to be leading the conspiracy to accomplish just that.
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