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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.

December 14, 2014

Dear God,

Hello my Lord.  Thank You for this day.  I can’t help but notice that Christmas Day is closing in and I have to admit that the closer it gets the more depressed I feel.  But please let me explain, although I’m happy and filled with the Holy Spirit.  With the birth of my Lord and Savior drawing near, I’m disappointed that I’m going to miss my infant son’s first Christmas morning as well as his first birthday two days after Christ’s birth.  I’m sad that the choices I made have taken this season of “firsts” away from me.

Lord, as I sit and read the Word in preparation for the coming of my Savior, I find the story of the Immaculate Conception both a beautiful mystery and a huge leap of faith.  “The Holy Spirit will come upon you and the power of the most High will overshadow you and for that reason the Holy offspring shall be called the Son of God” (Luke 1:36)  And in thinking of this glorious conception, I’m drawn to think of a rather dreadful inception of my own, and that is the regrettable choice to prick my vein for the first time two years ago.  I remember it as if it were yesterday and I remember exactly how I felt and how I unknowingly and dramatically changed my whole life from that very moment on.  Up until that point my addiction to heroin was limited to snorting it in liquid form.  The same liquid form I later injected and took my enslavement to a whole other dimension.  The night it happened I remember feeling devastated, heartbroken and lost for the hundredth time and just wanting it all to go away.  I didn’t want to remember or feel any more of the once happy life that was slipping away more and more as the days went on.  I remember exactly where I was and almost the exact hour in which I would never be the same again.  Even though then I wasn’t aware how this deep, penetrating heroin inception would be the pivotal moment for my life’s continuous downward spiral into the fiery pits of hell and a domino effect of every good thing I once knew falling helplessly to pieces at my own feet.

It was a Sunday, at about 9:30pm and I sat on the toilet at a fellow addict’s bathroom, which looking back I see that many nights I started off in that seat which in time became my own throne to a warped kingdom of torturous pain, self-mutilation and heart stopping drifts between two very different realities.  I made the same heart slowing slurry I’d made countless times before, but this time I loaded it into a new syringe, like shoving a fresh clip into the handle of a pistol and waiting to squeeze the trigger, and shoved it into the thickest vein I could find.  I recall watching that black wickedness disappear into my bloodstream and felt it wash over my whole body with every pounding heartbeat, like a blanket of warmth being draped over me from the top of my head to the hairs that stood on the back of my neck to the slow heavy weights being shackled to my arms and legs, to the tingle I felt down to my toes.  I remember a strange feeling of dread disguised as relief flow across my chest and I leaned back against the tank of my throne with my eyes weighed closed, a melancholy smile across my red, chapped lips and a single salty tear rolling down my hot cheek.  No high had ever felt that good before, nor would any high ever feel that good again.  I think the devil does that on purpose.  He entices us with pain stricken pleasure which sucked me into his tight grasp of evil and deception and then left me chasing that same unobtainable deceit until I had dwindled down to nothing.  I believe that any hope I had left at restoring my damaged life was blown away at that moment and I’m the one who pulled the trigger.  Looking back, it’s crazy to believe I continued to live like this for two whole years, chasing a high I would unknowingly never again feel and chasing the ghost of a life lost.  A life I would never, ever again have.

I lived the next two years every day enslaving myself deeper and deeper to the will of the dark spirit and every day dying a little more inside until finally no life remained in me.  The people around me became fewer and fewer.  The person in the mirror looked less and less like me.  My poor excuse for a life grew sadder and harder by the moment.  And with each passing day I longed more and more to die.  I was simply living to die, and dying inside to live.

Although My Lord, that part of my life was sad, lonely and dark… there is a happy ending which You knew and had planned before it happened.  “But God being rich in mercy because of His great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our transgressions, made us alive together with Christ (by grace you have been saved)”  Ephesians 1:3-4  And with that promise You offered me life and You waited patiently for me to accept it.  For that inception, my Lord, the inception of my saved life was a thing of beauty.  This day I remember as well, I was laying in a “boat” (temporary bed in jail), incarcerated for my sins chosen in life, withdrawing from my favorite mistake, drenched in fever, slightly still hallucinating from the mental side effects of the deprivation of my black heroin, my arms and hands shaking involuntarily from the physical side effects of separating me from my ebony mistress.  I had the overall feeling like I wanted to crawl out of my skin, pull out my hair and just absolutely die from the imprisonment of my self-destructive habit.  My body was trembling profusely as I laid heavy in the soft, warm lap of a strange woman I barely knew from the outside world, now incarcerated with me, trying to offer comfort to my pain engulfed body.  She kindly massaged my weak, small muscles in an attempt to soothe my aching limbs, console my breaking heart and silence the shouts and screams in my mind.  She spoke of her God and His amazing love for everyone, including me.  She told me that He had saved her with His amazing promise of a better life and I honestly couldn’t help but notice a shining in her eyes that I couldn’t help but see as a personal invitation into her heart.  I now know it was the Holy Spirit alive in her, beaming out of her in an attempt to display His wondrous works and love.  I remember thinking that whatever had made her feel so calm and whoever had made her shine so beautifully was who I wanted for myself and who I wanted to know as well.  So as I cried uncontrollably in her lap and she whispered words of faith and encouragement while stroking my sweaty, disheveled hair, I opened my heart and allowed the Holy Spirit to enter my once shattered soul.

It didn’t hit all at once.  I didn’t spring out of bed or jump up, no longer in pain like you sometimes hear.  But rather it was a more intimate, slower process between You, my Heavenly Father, and me, Your child.  Reborn to a fresh start and a restored heart, so that I could truly begin to live.  It’s a process of a growing inside of me and it continues to grow stronger with each passing month, just like the baby growing in Mary’s womb that had also been perfect , placed by the Holy Spirit.

Both leaps of faith are miraculous, no matter how far apart on the scale of greatness they are.  For I know they are both precious to You, O Lord, and I know that You love ma as Your child.  “The things I have written to you who believe in the name of the Son of God, in order that you may know that you have eternal life.  1 John 5:13.  This is just another confirmation of Your love and promise for my ever growing faith.  I know with You and in You all things are possible.

In Jesus name I pray, Amen.

Praise God!

All my soul,