Not a Road to Damascus.

It's Saturday.

The big guy is traipsing through wilderness and my tiny went down early for a nap. I came to my blog knowing that I needed to write. There is never any issue with what to write on, but rather, how to present the information in a way that satisfies. In no sense am I speaking about my own satisfaction, but that of God's.

This past week I have been reflecting on my transformation. Moments in each day where I am met with action or conversation that bring me to a place of seeing where I stand; seeing the black and white difference of who I was then, compared to now.

My conversion was not a road to Damascus; with no exact location, date, or time. It was slow, spanning over months and years. I have lost track of each conviction that took place; some big, some small, each monumental in making me new.

I never tried to do better by following rules or being good. Rules were made to be broken and how can goodness be measured? My idols had become many, and my baggage outweighed my strength. I needed the life I had created from the lies of this world to be bulldozed and thrown away.

Having been blessed with a mind to think, I silenced the voices around me and thought. I began to mull over what made sense and what didn't; opening myself up to being wrong. Gulping down my pride, and fear of rejection and disappointment, I shared the darkness that had secretly decayed my heart.

...to be continued when she naps again.