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Virgin Monk Boy's avatar

Liz, your honesty hits harder than most sermons—and it doesn't even need a pulpit or PowerPoint slides.

That line—“My sorrow-packed heart could not have mustered it”—whew. That’s the sound of real hope cracking open the ceiling just enough to let the Light whisper in. Not the Pinterest-verse hope with daisy filters, but the gritty kind you clutch while kneeling in kitchen corners.

You’re right. Hope isn’t passive. It’s resistance. It’s protest in the shape of expectation. It’s throwing your anchor into a promise you haven’t seen yet and calling it real anyway.

And yes—God has not forgotten you. But let me add one thing:

You haven't forgotten Him either.

Even through every puddle of pain, every borrowed verse from your mother, every deferred dream—somewhere in your soul, a stubborn ember kept saying, “Write this down. Tell the truth. Light a path.”

Thank you for doing it.

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Sae Abiola's avatar

Thank you for sharing this. Hopelessness can feel like the end, but it’s not. God is still near, even in the silence. Psalm 34:18 reminds us that He’s close to the brokenhearted. There’s still healing ahead even if it’s unfolding slowly.

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