Stories,
you see, they're not just words on a page. They're alive. Breathing. Pulsing things that live in the shadows of our minds and the depths of our souls. Some people, they try to keep 'em locked up tight, like a dangerous secret. As if by not speaking 'em, they'll just fade away like a bad dream after a rough night.
But here's the thing about stories - especially the dark ones, the ones that smell of despair and taste like fear. They don't die. They fester. Grow. And in the silence, they become monsters, waiting to pounce when you least expect it.
I've seen it happen. Heck, I've lived it. That creeping doubt that whispers in your ear like a malevolent spirit: "Who are you to speak? Who'd believe you anyway?" Imposter syndrome, they call it. Fancy name for an old devil that's been messing with our heads since time began.
But listen closely. There's power in speaking the unspeakable. In shining a light on those dark corners where our deepest fears love to hide. 'Cause somewhere out there, someone's fighting the same monsters, trapped in a prison of shame and silence. And your words? They might just be the key to their freedom.
That's why I'm gonna tell you about Sarah. It's not a pretty tale. It's not for the faint of heart. But it's real. It's raw. And in this crazy, messed-up world we're living in, real is what we need most.
So buckle up. Prepare for a story that'll take you to hell and back. But remember - our God specializes in rescue missions. He's in the business of turning victims into victors, prisoners into liberators.
Sarah's story is a testament to that. It's a cry of hope in the dark. A beacon for those still lost in their own personal nightmares.
Your mission, should you choose to accept it: Read it. Share it. Text it to your friends. Post it on every social media platform you've got. Because for someone out there, drowning in the silence of their own private hell, these words might be the lifeline they've been praying for.
Remember: In this crazy journey we call life, Christ is glorified in every scar, every stumble, every hard-won victory. Help is available. Hope is real. And your story - yes, yours - could be the turning point in someone else's life.
The neon sign blinked, casting sickly shadows across my face. I was 16, but the mirror reflected a ghost – hollow-eyed, soul-weary. Loneliness had become my closest companion, more constant than the nameless men who rented my body night after night.
"Just once," they said. A lie that became my life sentence.
Addiction crept in like a thief, promising escape but stealing everything. The needle's kiss was my only friend, the momentary high a fleeting embrace in a world that had long since turned its back on me.
Loneliness has a taste. It's bitter like the pills I swallowed to numb the pain. It's acrid like the smoke I inhaled, hoping to fill the void. It's metallic like the blood in my mouth when clients got rough.
Rock bottom, they say. But rock bottom has a basement, and I was its sole tenant.
Blue lights pierced the darkness one night. Cold cuffs replaced the usual restraints. The cell was just another cage, the bars a tangible manifestation of the prison I'd been living in for years.
Loneliness followed me there too. It echoed in the silence between guard checks, in the space between heartbeats.
Then, a visitor. A woman with kind eyes and a book. She spoke of a man who loved the unloved, who touched the untouchable. Could His eyes see me and not flinch? Could His hands touch me and not take?
In the dark of night, whispers came. Not the usual taunts of my mind, but something... different.
"You are seen. You are known."
Tears fell for the first time in years. They tasted like hope.
The withdrawal was hell. My body revolted, my soul awakened. Sin's detox hurt more than heroin's ever did. But in the throes of agony, I wasn't alone. His presence filled the void that drugs and men never could.
First steps outside were blinding. The world too big, too loud. But His hand held mine. Scars met scars. For once, touch brought healing, not harm.
Church basements became my new haunt. Folding chairs my new throne. "Hi, I'm Sarah. I'm a new creation." The words felt foreign on my tongue, but with each repetition, they became more real.
Broken voices singing freedom's song became my lullaby, drowning out the echoes of past trauma.
The courtroom should have been familiar – I'd been in enough of them. But this time was different. "Case dismissed," the judge said. As the gavel fell, so did my chains. I rose, not as a victim, but as a victor.
Today, I counsel girls with stories like mine. Eyes that understand, hands that heal. Christ's love flows through this broken vessel, filling the cracks with gold.
Loneliness still whispers sometimes. Old habits die hard. But now, I have a louder voice to listen to. A hand to hold. A purpose to fulfill.
To the girl still trapped in the shadows of addiction and abuse: Your chains are already broken. You just can't feel it yet.
To the woman haunted by her past, convinced she's too far gone: Shame is a liar. Grace speaks louder.
To anyone drowning in the silence of their private hell: You are not alone. Not anymore.
The first step is the hardest, but I promise it's worth it. Talk to Him. Really talk to Him. Scream, cry, rage – He can take it. He's been waiting to hear your voice.
From victim to victor. From trafficked to triumphant. From addict to advocate. The Author of Life is ready to write your redemption story.
Your move, beloved. The loneliness ends here.
Will you let Him in?
I have seen this play out sooo many times. God rescuing people I know, from all kinds of situations, circumstances and addictions. Many in my own family, myself included. He always reminds me that I am a new creation because of Christ, but to never think of myself as better than anyone else. Even though my sins may not seem as bad as others in the world’s view, I know my sin was as filthy rags, disgusting and vile in His righteous sight. Truth be told, now that I am forgiven much, my sins from where I came, nauseate me! I, like Paul, think of myself as a wretched woman, chief of all sinners in my eyes, redeemed by Christ because of love and grace towards me! Why? I honestly don’t get it, I truthfully don’t know how to love like that. Not in and of myself that is. But I know, that I know, one day I will be able to not only feel that love given to me, but give it to Him in like manner! I can’t wait to be rid of this flesh! Loving and being loved as He intended!
Hallelujah!!!😊
Thank you.