Skip to main content

Damaged Goods

When you secretly struggle with ongoing insecurities, FREEDOM comes with a substantial price but greater reward. Your commitment to God becomes an intentional act of daily surrender.

It’s a willingness to actively seek God to mend the broken pieces.
It’s a desire to rise up boldly in His power and silence the inner critic within.
It’s yielding to His authority and abandoning the need for “man made” endorsements.
It’s an opportunity to willfully submit in obedience rather than fold to the presence of surrounding sin.
It’s moving from the residence of despair to the palace of destiny.

Today, I spent time reminiscing on God’s faithfulness. I would love to say that my spiritual journey mirrored the life of Ruth (which name means pleasantness). We all know the story...she willfully relocated to become spiritually fed. Ruth abandoned the familiar and comfortable to embrace God’s best for her life. We are reminded of her incredible act of loyalty by this most familiar scripture:

Ruth 1:16-17
“But Ruth replied, “Don’t urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried. May the LORD deal with me, be it ever so severely, if even death separates you and me.”

My journey hasn’t always been driven by faithfulness towards God. My adolescent integrity collapsed many times during heightened peer pressure. No one ever taught me the significance of offering my body as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God. I never considered my body as a "sacred temple; so my reputation dwindled, as I searched for love in all the wrong places. I prematurely broke my precious alabaster box to unauthorized thieves disguised as ribs.

In the sight of my high school peers, I was already wrote off as an modern day “Rahab” with nothing meaningful to contribute to society. They’d already deemed me as “unworthy & insignificant” so my chances of survival were slim to none. Depression & loneliness would surely take me out! I was a vulnerable child prisoner enslaved to an adult reality. My most valuable life lesson, PRAYER, showed up through unconventional means. It was through repeated teachings of a sixth grade drop-out, my grandmother, that my framed my spiritual foundation. She defeated all odds stacked against her with dignity & grace. She taught me to wholeheartedly pray. I often wondered if God heard my prayers but I was certain that He heard hers. She was a “walking ministry” that lead by example.

Just like God rewarded Rahab with safety, He made a way of escape for me. God remembered Rahab’s faith, not her profession. She didn’t let fear overpower her faith in God’s ability to deliver.

God’s power resides in rejected, desolate people:

The ordinary, overlooked population that doesn’t stand out wearing red bottoms & sporting a Michael Kors handbag.
The quiet ones (behind the veils) who are frequently attacked by outdated, character flaws.
The ones who are judged because they don’t “look” the part.

The inadequate.
The social misfits.
The “damaged goods.”

However, in Christ there is comfort, healing, direction and purpose. Don’t write off the “unknown” for the familiar. You never know who God will use.

We, all, play a vital part in the kingdom, regardless of our past residence.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Broken Covenant

Once upon a time— I wanted to believe something was real so desperately that I silenced the Spirit within me just to keep the illusion alive. I saw every red flag— not as warnings, but as tests of how much  I was willing to endure to feel chosen. I asked no questions because truth was already whispering, and I feared what obedience would cost me. So I made a covenant with denial— calling lies “grace,” and confusion “patience,” because the truth felt too vast, too holy, too disruptive to the future I had built in my mind. I clung to potential like it was promise, and mistook absence for peace. Yet the weight of it— this thing I called love— crushed my spirit daily. Still, desperation dressed itself as loyalty and convinced me to stay. And it didn’t get better. It decayed. Quietly at first… then unmistakably. Each time God unveiled truth, I chose the comfort of shadows over the calling of light. I pleaded. I prayed. I begged— not for revelation, but for permission to remain where I w...

From Chaos to Calm

After a while… the need to be heard at full volume begins to dissolve. The rooftops grow silent. The flames you once fed with trembling hands no longer feel like power— only exhaustion. What you burned never built a home. And somewhere along the way, you realize— not every echo returns, not every seed takes root, not every mountain was yours to climb. The grace you poured out like water in a desert, the love you offered with open, unguarded hands— it did not come back the way you imagined. And still… you are here. So instead of fighting what refuses to bend, you loosen your grip. Not in defeat— but in awakening. You release the need to be answered, to be chosen, to be understood by those who never learned your language. Your hands, once reaching outward, begin to rise— not in desperation, but in devotion. Upward. Open. Steady. God… I see You now in the quiet I once avoided. I hear You not in the thunder— but in the space where my striving used to live. And I am ready. Something within ...

Do Not Resuscitate (DNR)

What unsettles me most about some people is not the harm they cause— but the silence that follows it. No conviction. No trembling. No evidence that a soul was ever stirred. As if something sacred once lived there… and quietly left. What remains is form without fire. A body that breathes, but does not  feel . A Walking corpse. Spiritually vacant,  yet socially skilled— fluent in imitation, but foreign to truth. They move through people like weather— touching everything, anchoring nowhere. I once mistook that emptiness for mystery. Confused detachment with depth. Thought restraint was discipline, when it was really disconnection. But there was  no rootedness in him— only appetite. An endless hunger dressed as desire. A man grazing on bodies, scrolling through souls like they were disposable moments. Not searching. Not building. Just consuming— to quiet something unnamed within him. Unhealed wounds don’t stay still. They wander. From bed to bed, from face to face, from high ...