Sometimes I hate my past.

Not all of it. I’ve had a very blessed life and really great times.

But, there are parts of it I hate.

There are parts I wish weren’t a part of my story. I wish when I shared my testimony, I didn’t have to include them.

Because when I think about them, there are still emotions attached to these memories that I would rather not feel.

Shame. Regret. Sadness. Anger. To name a few.

Listen, I know I’m forgiven by Jesus. I know He died on the cross for my sin. I know that He can heal anything.

But from time to time, things in my past still hurt.

I wish I could go back and erase those things.

But I can’t.

Sometimes I hate it.

Sometimes.

Other times, I’m able to see my past differently.

Because it’s my past that makes me so incredibly grateful for a Savior because I really need one.

It’s my past that keeps me humble and reminds me that the enemy wants to destroy me, and if I’m not careful he knows how to get to me.

It’s my past that has helped establish my faith in God. When I doubt Him, I can think about where I’ve been and remember how far He has brought me.

It’s my past that helps me have compassion and empathy for people who are in their own dark places. It makes me want to stand by them and speak truth into them.

It’s my past that has allowed me to not give up even when things feel hopeless. Because things are never hopeless.

It’s my past that has brought me to exactly where I am today.

It’s my past that has made me open my hands and heart to God and cry out for Him.

And because of that, I would never change it.

It’s my past that keeps pointing me back to Jesus and it reminds me that doing life with Him is so much better than doing it alone.

Even though I don’t like it, I’m grateful for my past.

This post originally appeared on The Unraveling by Kelli Bachara

 

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