Category: Spiritual

I Dated the Devil

I met him at church. He said he was a Christian. I was a lonely, gullible, single mom who fell for his charming good looks and sugar-coated lies.

I was twenty-three. My son was three. He was thirty-six with a thirteen-year-old son that he had abandoned in an orphanage. Red flags were popping up everywhere, but stupid Cupid shot them all down.

He made me laugh. He made me feel loved. He made me as pliable as clay in his hands, twisting my Christian morals and ripping out pieces of my soul.

The more time I spent with him, the more the devil reared his ugly head. The same devil I’d seen many times throughout my life. Didn’t I see him in the glaring eyes at home? Didn’t I see him in the man who promised to love me till death do us part? Didn’t I see him behind the curtain of witchcraft?

Suddenly, his twisted lies became as transparent as glass, his heart as faithful as a harlot. He didn’t own a house, a vehicle, or even have a job. He pushed his way through life using and abusing the weak and the vulnerable, and lying his conniving head on the pillow of his victims. But I kept closing my eyes and turning the other cheek. I kept going to church, singing the hymns, hiding my shameful heart in the chamber of religion.

But each day became harder to live with the person I had become, the person I said I would never be. I was making it on my own, raising my child without any help from his father, and keeping my standards high. I was a good mother, a good person with a strong determination to do the right thing, but out of sheer weakness and stupidity, I traded my sacred heart for ashes in the wind.

Kicking him out of my life was the smartest thing I had done since I had invited him into it. I made a big mistake. I can’t go back and erase it; it’s forever etched in the shadows of my mind. But I walked away from it. I learned a valuable lesson from it, and I became a better person because of it.

It was a Saturday evening. Robbie and I were sitting on the couch watching The Flintstones when he suddenly barged through the door, waving a gun around and blabbering like a lunatic. Frantically, I pulled Robbie closer to me, watching our lives vanish in the midst of a disastrous storm.

His eyes were as black as coal; his face twisted like a raging monster as he stood in the middle of the room, threatening his way back into my life. When that didn’t work, he held up the gun and said he was going to shoot himself. With a deep sigh of relief, I gasped, “Fine! I think that’s about the best thing you can do for yourself!”

God, despite turning my back on him, in his love, mercy, and forgiveness, protected Robbie and me that day. I can find no other logical explanation why a crazy, life-threatening maniac would suddenly turn around and walk harmlessly out the door.

Being a single mom back in the sixties was as tough as being a single mom today. The challenges and temptations are the same. Human soul snatchers are the same. The need to be loved and valued is the same. And God is the same. He never leaves us. He never betrays us. He never condemns us. He lovingly takes us to the Potter’s house and diligently restores our broken souls.

Knock, Knock, Who’s There?

Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me (Revelation 3:20 NIV).

Silently, he stands in the freezing cold, his knuckles raw and bleeding. His knocks are gentle and persistent, barely audible above the noise of the world. He could knock louder. He could pound the door down, barge in, and make his presence known. But he never will.

Trouble lies behind the door, hidden from the outside world: broken hearts, shattered dreams, pillows drenched with tears. Love once built on trust has been betrayed. Forgiveness is consumed in the flames of anger and rage. Peace, joy, and happiness have shriveled and died in the arms of grief. Hope has been swallowed by the darkness of despair.

Knock, knock.

So gentle. So persistent. His tender voice pleading, desperate, his heart broken and crushed by grief. His perfect, blameless body is deeply scarred, bearing the stripes of atonement for a world lost in sin. A world tricked by the evil one, the father of all lies, the prince of darkness, the silent killer of the soul.

Knock, knock.

Who’s There?

Jesus.

Jesus who?

Jesus Christ, the Son of the true and living God.

What do you want?

I want you to open the door and invite me in.

Why?

Because I want to heal your battered, bleeding soul. I want to forgive your wayward, rebellious heart from sin, guilt, and shame. I want to wash your heart clean and fill it with joy, peace, and happiness. I want to show you how much I love you. I want to release Satan’s murderous grip. I want to set you free and give you eternal life.

Knock, knock.

I created you. I breathed into your nostrils the breath of life. You are my masterpiece. You belong to me, but the evil one snatched you from my hands to devour your soul. Unless you open the door and invite me in, I won’t be able to help you. I can’t make you believe in me. I can’t give you everlasting life without the forgiveness of sin. The choice is all yours.

Knock, knock.

The clock is ticking. Don’t delay. Death is crouching at your door. The choice is yours; life and death are in your hands.

For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord (Romans 6:23).










Trust Me

Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord, himself, is the Rock eternal (Isaiah 26:4).


“I don’t like going off and leaving you all alone. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“Of course, I’ll be okay. I want you to go and spend time with your old Navy buddies. It’ll be good for you. Go and have fun.”

He’s only been gone four hours, and already I feel trapped in an eerie tomb of silence. No TV, no crazy, made-up songs bouncing off the walls, no shouting, “Honey! I love you!” Nothing but the deafening sound of silence.

He’s taken little trips before without me, but this time it feels different. Maybe because I’m older, now, and realize that one day, I may face life without him. And that scares me. I think about that a lot these days. How do you learn to live without your best friend and marriage partner of 53 years? How do you adjust to living alone?

Like shifting sand, life is always changing. Nothing ever stays the same. One day, you wake up young and vibrant, the next day, you can barely drag your old bones out of bed. You don’t see it coming. You don’t even notice the slight changes. It’s like bam! And you find yourself waist-deep in the murky water of old age.

Old age changes your way of thinking. It rips the mask of denial off your face, and the ugly truth appears, like a dark, lifeless shadow dictating the final chapter of your life. Old age. The Phantom of the Opera. That younger, vibrant self, smothered in the cloak of decay.

How do we tell ourselves to stay calm when we visit nursing homes, when we see the struggles, the fear, and the sadness in people’s eyes? How can we feel safe in the hands of a broken health care system? How much money is enough to get the proper care we worked so hard and saved for?

I don’t know because I’m not there yet. But as a believer in Jesus Christ, I know that through the promises in His Word, He will take care of me, that He will walk with me through the shadow of death, and into eternal life with Him. No more sorrow. No more tears. No more old age. No more death.

Old age and I are not friends. It’s an intruder. I’m a fighter. But fighting against old age is fighting against God. Through disobedience, Adam and Eve sinned, and the world was given the death sentence. Who am I to change God’s mind? Who am I to stand before Him with clenched fists, expecting Him to change the rules? To make an exception. To remove the sting of old age.

We all face many challenges throughout our lives, and we either learn to deal with them or we learn to run from them. To stick our heads in the sand and hope they go away. Old age is a challenge that you can’t run from or bury in the sand. If we’re fortunate enough to live a long life, we must be brave enough to accept it as God’s gift to us and trust Him to walk with us through it.

I thank God for my life, for all the challenges, and for being there with me every step of the way. He created me, and He is able and willing to take care of me for the rest of my life.

The world is a scary place with all its vices and distractions. Today, more than ever, we need someone we can trust and rely on. Someone who has our best interests at heart. And God is the One. He proved it in a lowly manger, He shouted it from the cross, from the tomb, and at His glorious resurrection! I love you! I will take care of you! Trust me!

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light (Matthew 11:28).



Life is But a Dream

What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes (James 4:14).

I always feel a twinge of sadness after spending a wonderful day with my family. Like the child of long ago, lying in bed, frightened and alone in the dark, I feel a sense of grief, as if a piece of me has died. The only things that exist are the ghostly shadows floating around in the chambers of my mind. And my heart mourns the death of another, fulfilling day, never to be lived again.

I try to remind myself how short life is and to live each day as if it were my last, but I’m not very good at it. I take each day for granted, as if there’s a million more to live, to wipe the slate clean and start over again. Then one day, I stand in front of the mirror, hopelessly searching for my younger self trapped in another time zone.

Each day is like manna from heaven. We can’t store it, borrow from it, or save it for a rainy day. We have twenty-four hours to live it, and then it’s gone. What we do with those twenty-four hours is up to us.

In the short time Jesus walked this earth, he taught his listeners how to live each day, but they didn’t get it either. Help the poor, he said. Don’t worry about tomorrow. Trust me. Love your enemies and do good to those who hurt you. Follow me, I am the only way, the truth, and the life. I will lead you safely home. I will give you peace and rest for your weary souls.

I’ve been blessed with many years, some I wasted, which I regret. But I can’t go back in time and change a thing, and if I could, I’d probably make it worse. All I have is today. Maybe it’s a sunny day, maybe it’s a stormy day, but it’s the only day God has promised me. How I live it is up to me. And I can’t do that very well without God’s help because some days are just too hard, and I’m too tired and frustrated to deal with it.

Life on Earth will end one day, and that is frightening. But eternal life will begin either in Heaven or in Hell. Today is the only day you have to choose which one it will be. And salvation is simple: For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life John 3:16).

Thunder in Paradise

Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper (1 Kings 19: 11, 12).

We were doing great. I threw in the bloody towel and hung up my tattered boxing gloves. My fighting days are over. God touched and healed my heart. I’ve been reformed. I am no longer the same.

Then one daunting day, the earth rumbled and shook, like a violent earthquake. The birds stopped singing. The sun stopped shining. And the rain burst through the heavens like a gushing river.

Words, as hot as fire, spewed from our mouths like molten lava, destroying a lifetime of hopes and dreams we had built together. Now our mangled hearts lie dead in the smoldering ashes of doom.

We messed up. We broke our promises. We held each other’s hearts in our hands and crushed them like broken glass. Now they are slowly bleeding to death. Our love for each other suddenly turned to hate, anger, and frustration. And like a roaring lion trapped in a foreboding cage, I broke loose and fled out the door.

The woods were peaceful and quiet. The stump on which I sat was damp and draped with moss. Beneath my feet lay a grungy blanket of withered leaves and broken twigs, and tree limbs. The earth smelled pungent, like a dank, musty cellar. But like a kindly, old grandfather, it comforted me. It held me safely in its strong, rugged arms, as it always has throughout my tumultuous life.

Beneath the canopy of trees, the sun filters through the rustling leaves, as if attempting to warm my shivering heart. Tiny bugs crawl up and down the brittle, peeling bark on the tree beside me, as birds flutter from limb to limb, singing happy songs. If only I could be as free as the trees. As free as the sky above and the gentle breeze caressing my tear-drenched face. If only I could sprout wings and fly a trillion miles away.

The few hours I spent crying and meditating in the shelter of the woods were not long enough. I wanted to pitch a tent and stay there forever. But, I whispered my goodbyes to the tranquil, captivating haven and, like a weary old pack mule, plodded back home, wishing I could wake up from this gut-wrenching nightmare.

The house was dark and quiet, like a morgue. Everything felt dead; I didn’t want to be here anymore. I wanted to turn back the clock to that Sunday a few weeks ago, when I was sitting in church, wiping tears of conviction from my eyes. I wanted to feel the joy and happiness, and to hear the music and message again. I wanted to feel God’s presence and the safety of his strong arms again.

Just when I thought the worst of the storm was over, it started back up again, and my husband packed his bags and stormed out the door. Just like that, our fifty-three-year marriage was stuffed in a suitcase and thrown in the car like a piece of worthless trash.

Betrayal! Abandonment! Devastation! Two hearts once joined together by love and faithfulness are now shattered to smithereens by hatred and rage, never to be the same again. They are crushed and broken beyond repair.

What happened? Where did these two monsters come from? Who let them in our house to rape, plunder, and destroy our hearts, minds, and souls? Who gave them permission to rip apart our happy home?

I should have seen it coming, or at least been on guard. Satan is always ready and eager to mess things up. But I thought I had it together now. My husband and I were back in church. God was restoring my rebellious heart. I could feel his healing touch rippling through my wounded soul like a soothing balm.

For days and weeks, my heart and mind were finally at peace with each other. No more depression. No more monsters kicking and screaming inside me. No more anger. No more rage. I’m all better now. I’ve surrendered my life to God; he has everything under control. Then suddenly, the current changed, and once again, I was drenched by the flood of failure, shame, and remorse.

A sobbing, pleading hour later, my husband came back home. I put on a pot of coffee, and we sat and talked things out. Our marriage is solid, like a tree planted by the water. It’s battled the storms of sickness, pain, and grief, arguments and disagreements, and will continue doing so till death do us part. But the chaotic events of that dreadful day nearly destroyed us both.

Spiritually and emotionally, I am still sorting through the aftermath of disbelief and confusion. Where is God? Is he so disgusted with me that he abandoned me? Have I let him down one too many times? Is my faith too watered down with doubt and grief? Has my love and trust in him drowned in my tears of anger and frustration? Will we ever be on speaking terms again?

Sitting here writing the ending of my story, tears roll down my face as his love washes over me. Tenderly, he opens my eyes, and I see that I am the one to blame. I am the one who ran away, too ashamed and broken to face him. Too afraid to trust him again. I am the one hiding and shivering in a cold, dark cave of hopelessness and despair. I am the one who left him; he never left me for a second.

He stands there, whispering my name and telling me to get out of the cave. To stop running from him. To stop trying to fix myself. In his hands, he formed my soul, and in his hands, he restores it again and again. In his hands, I am safe. If only I could learn to stop jumping out, to get it through my fearful, rebellious heart that running from the shelter of his love and protection always leads me to the depths of despair.

Conclusion:
I spent weeks writing this article and agonized over whether to publish it. I came close to deleting it, because it’s too personal to share. But I kept coming back to it, rewriting it as the fog began to lift, lending a better perspective and understanding. And yes, it is personal, but it’s real. Life is real. Suffering is real. Failure is real. We can all relate to the harsh reality of living in a world consumed by evil forces. We can deny it, but we can’t hide from it. And when we take a stand against evil, we can expect the devil to slither through the smallest cracks of our relationship with God and everyone around us. If you get anything at all from this article, I hope you can identify with the emotional and spiritual struggle between good and evil, and know that no matter where you are at this moment, there is hope in God. There is deliverance. There is salvation. There is peace and joy. Life on Earth will never be perfect. But just as God molded and breathed life into a clump of clay, he can also fix it when it breaks. There is nothing God can’t do for us when we invite him into our hearts. Life is tough. Don’t live another minute without God leading you through it.

He Restores My Soul

He leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul (Psalm 23: 2,3).

Let’s pretend that your heart is a car. Okay, a truck, if you prefer. It’s traveled thousands of pothole-ridden roads, through thunderstorms and pouring rain. It gets stuck in the mud, and there is no one to get you out. You keep spinning your tires till, suddenly, you run out of gas and the nearest gas station is a hundred miles away. Your iPhone is dead, and Siri is as useful as a blind horse in a maze. What are you going to do?

Like a vehicle, our hearts travel thousands of miles, in and out of love and toxic relationships, getting banged up, stuck in the mud of lies and deceit; foolishly spinning our tires till our gas tank is empty. Now we’re stuck on life’s busy highway with no helping hand in sight. Our hearts are broken; our souls are parched and dying of thirst. What are we going to do?

We can hide our brokenness behind a pearly-toothed smile. We can crack a few jokes. We can win a stranger’s attention with our Ken and Barbie’s charming good looks. But sooner or later, the flimsy walls we built to fool the world will crumble and fall at our feet. What are we going to do?

Our pride screams, leave me alone! I can fix it myself. I’ll just drink a little more, take a few more happy pills, toughen up and keep plowing my way through. No one will see my tears. No one can bring me down. I can do this all by myself!

I tried it my way. It doesn’t work. Thankfully, God has a way of bringing me to my knees. He knows my heart. He knows my foolish pride. He knows the raging storms within, the rugged mountains I’ve climbed, the rivers I’ve crossed, the bridges I’ve burned; every dark and lonely night I spent drowning in my tears. And he knows just what I need.

But, I had to know that I could trust him, that I could give him my heart, without fear of him crushing it in his hands. I had to believe that he loves me just as I am, that he won’t turn his back on me if I mess up. I had to know that, unlike my earthly father, I could trust his love and protection.

The more I trust him, the less fearful I become. The closer I walk with him, the more I feel his love. The more I study his Word, the clearer I see his smiling face. The more I surrender my life to him, the more he restores my soul.

What about you? Does your heart need to be restored? Are you exhausted from trying to fix it yourself? Are you depressed? Discouraged? Frustrated? Have you tried everything under the sun to feel better, to be better, only to fail time and time again? Give it all to God. Trust him with your broken heart, and he will restore your soul.

Freedom in Christ

It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery (Galatians 5:1).

Meet my brother, Leonard, the youngest of six siblings; a rebel to the ninth degree. At home, at school; anywhere he decided to kick and scream against society. In his twisted thinking, rules were made to be broken. He didn’t know the meaning of respect and felt entitled to do and to take whatever he pleased. He never worked for it; he just took it. What he didn’t steal, he destroyed, like the abandoned house he set on fire when he was just barely twelve.

After spending a year in reform school, we thought he had learned his lesson. It only made him worse. He blamed everyone but himself for what he considered cruel and unusual punishment. With a heart burning with rage, he continued his bitter war against authority, serving time in jail, getting out on parole then back in jail for breaking parole and committing even more devious crimes.

Addicted to the thrill of the chase, and hallucinations of drugs and alcohol, my brother became a prisoner of pride and self-destruction. More than five decades of living a life of crime, death was his final destination, where his penniless, decaying body lay in a shameful, pauper’s grave.

But, as a Christian, was I any better? Was I freer than he? Less angry? Less rebellious? Less responsible for my twisted thinking and kicking and screaming against injustice?

For decades, I thought I was safe, hiding behind the walls of my religious facade. It was too risky opening the door to my soul. What would people think when they saw the blazing fire of anger and rage? And, what about the green-eyed monster of jealousy and the double-edged sword of vengeance? What would they think about the barbed wire fence around my heart, and the snarling, junkyard dog chained to it?

We can parade through life fooling people, but we can never parade through life fooling God.

The acts of the flesh are obvious: sexual immorality, impurity and debauchery, idolatry and witchcraft; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, and envy; drunkenness, orgies, and the like. I warn you, as I did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God (Galatians 5: 19, 20, 21).

Like an earthquake, I was shaken to the core of my being after reading these blatant, condemning words: those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God. And the Holy Spirit whispered to my soul, not even you, Sandi.

It’s as if a dam broke inside me and all the sludge and filth I’d been holding back for decades, began pouring out. The Holy Spirit removed my blindfolds, revealing every sin labeled and dangling before my eyes like puppets on a string. What I so carefully kept hidden in the dark was exposed before God like creepy, ugly bugs scattering in the light.

Falling on my knees before God, he washed my heart clean and set it free. He tore down the walls that Satan helped me build and showered me with his love and forgiveness. He renewed my mind, restored my soul, and sent the Holy Spirit to teach me how to live. He pulled me out of the quicksand of sin, released Satan’s death-grip from my heart, and gave me peace and joy and everlasting life in him.

Freedom in Christ is not a free ticket to a trouble-free life, nor is it a one-time deal, but an ongoing process of moving farther away from what we were, and closer to what we are becoming in Christ. It doesn’t mean we will never fail and disappoint God, because we will. We’re humans, bent towards the alluring pleasures of the devil’s playground of sin and destruction.

And, because God created us with a free choice, he allows us the freedom to run away, and to get all tangled up in Satan’s web of lies and deceit again. The choice is ours, and so are the dire consequences we will face. Continue living for Satan and die in the tar pit of sin, completely separated from God, or live in the everlasting power and freedom in Christ. The choice is all yours.

For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord (Romans 6:23).

So I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh. For the flesh desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the flesh. They are in conflict with each other, so that you are not to do whatever you want “Galatians 5: 16, 17”.

Crushing the Jaws of Death

Even as a child, I knew something was wrong with me, and so did everyone else living in the house. For instance, every Saturday night was hair-washing time; a Freddy Krueger nightmare for me and a Jack the Ripper moment for my parents.

I was a high-strung, temperamental six-year-old. Mom was the lady with the shampoo bottle in her hand and daddy was the man with the willow switch across his lap.

Whimpering like a frightened puppy, I squeezed my eyes shut, gritted my teeth and tried my best to be brave. But the instant the warm soapy water drenched my long, red hair, cascading over the edge of the old galvanized tub, panic devoured my brain.

Like a streak of lightning, I bolted from daddy’s tight grip around my wet, slippery arm, and raced out the door half naked and dripping wet, arms flailing, kicking and screaming like a wild donkey. Down a spooky, wooded, dirt path. In the dark. Where trees turned into giant monsters and grizzly bears ate little children alive!

Suddenly, the thought of drowning was better than being eaten alive, so I hightailed back into the house, where the woman with the shampoo bottle and the man with the willow switch sat like a pair of statues.

Back in the fifties, I was labeled super sensitive. High-strung. Strong-willed. Problem child. Had anyone looked beyond the labels, they would have seen a frightened little girl buried beneath the rubble of torment.

I was fifty-something when I was finally diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. Fifty-something years of living with my skin turned inside out, feeling every little prick as if I were being chopped to pieces with an axe.

Finally, I had something to blame; I have a brain malfunction. I can’t help it. I was born this way. It’s not my fault. I’ll just take my meds and go with the flow. Hopefully my psychotic episodes will be less frequent and severe. Hopefully the highs and lows will level out, and I can finally be at peace with myself.

It doesn’t work like that. In fact, there is no medication for BPD, only for the anxiety and depression associated with it, which is like taking a baby aspirin for a severe migraine. And when my emotions are triggered out of control, nothing helps. I’m too far gone, too over the edge, too emotionally fractured to think and react rationally. The Grim Reaper is my only ticket out.

BPD is like an invincible monster; a devil controlling and manipulating every corner of your life. It toys with your brain, convincing you that what you see and feel is real, that people are out to get you, that they hate you, and deliberately want to hurt you. They constantly judge and criticize you, stab you in the back; anything to get you all fired up until you’re spinning completely out of control.

BPD shows no mercy. Not for you. Not for anyone around you. It slaughters relationships and makes working a public job nearly impossible because everything and everyone is out to destroy you. Loud music, loud people, loud anything causes an emotional explosion impossible for Superman to contain. So, it ruptures, like a volcano, destroying every shred of sanity clinging to your twisted brain.

For a Christian, BPD is a double-edged sword. You’re damned for not reading your Bible enough, not attending church enough, not praying enough, not doing whatever a good Christian is supposed to do enough. If you were a REAL Christian, following all the golden rules, you wouldn’t act like a blooming idiot when your emotions are shot to smithereens. Shame on you!

No! Shame on you for turning your back on me when I’m crying for help. Shame on you for leaving me stranded and drowning in my own tears. Shame on you for judging me without even knowing me. Shame on you for kicking me deeper into the pit of despair.

Long before I even heard about BPD, I made weekly visits to the mental health clinic for nearly two years. My relationship with my mother was so toxic that I walked out of her life before she completely destroyed me. During our separation and numerous cognitive sessions with my therapist, I became less confused and began to see myself for the first time.

I began to understand why I bawled my eyes out for weeks on end when we moved from the city to the country; why I couldn’t sleep until I quit that noisy, nerve-racking sewing job; why loud noises pushed me over the edge; why I felt that I was living in a house without walls, and why it seemed that I was being eaten alive from the inside out.

Fear is the sinister monster, devouring my confidence and self-worth, demolishing the walls of safety and protection, leaving me feeling naked and exposed for all to see and to judge and to shame and to ridicule. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to feel safe.

Yesterday, my husband and I celebrated our eight-year-old great-grandson’s birthday at our granddaughter’s house. There was a crowd of people there that I didn’t know, but I was okay. My heart wasn’t pounding, my brain wasn’t screaming, and the urge to run never entered my mind.

Self-discovery is the antidote for BPD; the process of seeing deep inside yourself and the ability to finally understand who you are and why you overreact in stressful situations, and why you feel so angry and overwhelmed by anxiety. And as discouraging as it is, you must realize that healing is not in a pill, it’s in yourself.

But you can’t do it alone. You need a support system of family and friends you can trust. As for me, I wouldn’t have come this far in my journey without God’s help, and the support of my husband and my son, and his loving, growing family. They may not always understand my struggle, but they always love and support me.

God is good and wants us all to experience his love and understanding toward us. He knows our pain, our struggle, and he is always there to help us. All we have to do is ask him.

To learn more about BPD and ways you can overcome it, click on the following link. Dr. Daniel Fox, BPD specialist, gives me that extra boost I need to keep pushing forward. https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=dr+fox+borderline+personality+disorder

If you enjoyed reading my post, please click like and share your thoughts in the comment section ~ Sandi