A woman named Dana has been sharing her spiritual journey through a series of “Letters to God”. You can find her first letter to God here.
Lord, I still painfully walk through my days with so much baggage still attached that I don’t know how to shed. It weighs me down and makes it hard for me to walk my spiritual path with a genuine and pure heart. I pray that with the guidance from the Holy Spirit and the help and counsel of spiritual mentors this will lead me to break these chains of sin and free me from my pain.
So, dear Lord, I start with resentment. Resentment for my mother and father which has led to a loss of a relationship and a weak bond. It’s led to overall disdain for my father. I don’t have nay clue who he is as a person. I really don’t know the man other than the face that the face I see in the mirror is his own and the little I do know about him makes me “my father’s daughter” through and through from our love of alcohol, our quick temper and our ability to be a very functioning addict. With all of those things we are one in the same. The hurt of feeling less important than that of their other children made it easier to blame them for the severity of my current situation of incarceration with no set release date. That hurt justified my once unaccountable state of mind. This resentment overall has led to my family becoming strangers in my life. I resented that they were unable to understand my enslavement to addiction, that they could not see past the needle full of black heroin in my hand to the person I’ve always been inside. I felt like they judged me for my gross addiction when judgment wasn’t theirs to make. I thought that if just one had extended their hand in help, maybe I wouldn’t have sunken so deep in the sands of turmoil encased with drugs, crime and overall evilness.
I now see that my family simple couldn’t understand my addiction to heroin and meth because in all honesty I couldn’t and still can’t understand my addiction to this poison that my body still so longs for. I know now that asking my heartbroken mother to see past my needle was impossible because I myself made that needle my whole life. I made it the focal point of my day to day, slow, progressive, inevitable death. I put that shiny needle full of that black “medicine” up front and center to display nothing else but it’s destruction leaving only its scars to see. Scars in the form of track marks all over both arms from knuckles to elbows, massive weight loss that left me unrecognizable to people I’ve known my whole life and a scarred face from the poison desperately trying to escape out any pore on my body. It left an obvious hole in my chest where my heart used to rest, which could be seen through the glossed over, sad, empty, hollow eyes that were a looking glass directly into my once endangered soul.
How could they possibly see the person I’d been inside? The sweet daughter and baby-sitter I’d been all my life, when I myself was eagerly killing her and I could no longer recognize the woman and monster staring back at me in the mirror. Now sitting here in this concrete block, O recognize that so many hands were extended to me, palms up in a gesture to help me, to reach out to me and save me from myself, but I was so consumed by the dark spirit that he blinded me into believing that those extended hands were ones of restriction with palms down, to push me down and hurt me.
I realize that the sands in which I sank were the accumulation of the pebbles of my own making. That I was falling deeper and deeper, not because the sands were rising up, but rather because I was burying myself in my own pity, pain and desire to indulge my fleshly addiction to drugs, money and crime. I’ve come to understand that my brothers and sister are not more important in my parent’s eyes, but the help I once demanded is far to great and stretches beyond their means due to my own mistakes, due to the choices I’ve made to do drugs, deal drugs, run drugs, break into houses, steal cars and the greatest mistake to deny God and sin against Him.
All these mistakes and short comings are all my own. I have no one to blame. For this resentment because like an open sore, like an abscess on my heart. The acceptance of the Lord into my life along with God’s love is the ONLY ointment that could possibly heal me. Now I can only own up to my faults, confess my sins, pray that my family can forgive me. Believe in the promise that God will forgive me and truly live tomorrow and all days to come in the likeness of Jesus Christ my Savior. All I can do is repent and ask the Lord to make me anew. So I give this and so many other things up to God for I know with Him and in Him all things are possible.
In Jesus’ name I pray, Amen.
All my soul,