Every morning I woke up and went through the motions, floundering from devotional to devotional. Why? Because that’s what good girls do, right? I read my Bible, searching for something that I could practically apply to my life. As the years went on, I grew more frustrated with my walk with the Lord.
I felt like He had left me, which made me even more hurt and sad. I wanted to give up, but I kept trying, hoping I could someone make the Lord not angry at me. Because that must have been why I wasn’t hearing His voice daily.
One day I was scrolling through Instagram and stumbled across a post about something called DGroup. I read about how they have accountability, curriculum, scripture memory and prayer partners. But that seemed to “hardcore” and quite honestly scared me.
I held the remote in my hand and scrolled through the new releases on Netflix. It was a lazy Saturday afternoon and I had just woke up from a nap. I shuffled through the mediocre list of movies until I saw the image of a man with a giant afro standing at a canvas.
The night air was cool against my face as I escaped the hotel. Each step took me further away from the loud laughter and the yellow glow of outdoor tiki bar below the hotel. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my coat and widened my stride trying to catch up to my sister and her boyfriend .
I juggled the two dog leashes in my hand as I went off for our morning walk in the neighborhood. The sun was shining, birds were chirping and everything was going my way. I smiled as I waltzed down my street and admired the adorable craftsman style houses. I thought to myself how blessed I am to have found such a gem in the brick-box factory that is Texas. As I turned the corner, I came upon a certain house.
For a majority of my life I have had no respect or understanding for mothers. When all my friends started quitting their jobs and becoming moms, I pitied them. I thought their college careers were wasted on kids. I even mentally wore a badge of pride in the fact I hadn’t settled down and started a family.
The first week I had my engagement ring I treated it like it was made of glass. I would clean it repeatedly and I gaze at it. But as the months went on, it became a part of me. I didn't notice it anymore.