10

Looking back these ten years since the day I forsook God to my own devices, I always ask myself — do I regret doing so? The songs of the earth today will say yes, don't ever look back. Don't ever look back. Live for the moment. Live for what you wouldn't regret — at that moment. And so at that moment, I did think I wouldn't regret. Then as I regretted, I had to pay my dues for it. Painful, painful dues. Today, these still occasionally jump me at corners that I turn, and I find myself having to face up to them shadows — one smile at a time. Snatching up every ounce of courage and security in God to even make the slightest bit of acknowledgment of its presence, then loving the darkness in return. Do they flee from the light? Oh yes, they certainly do. Sometimes it's nary a flicker I capture, the fleeing taking place in the depths of communication and the shutting of doors before me. Most of the time it's the fiercest aura one would never expect in a sanctuary, or what it's supposed to be to the dichotomised mind. Of course I shirk away, but not with a heavy heart that wonders. I wonder about the lurking shadows awaiting me as I countdown my entrance into the field. I wonder about turning corners without having to jump. Painful, painful dues. But how much can I regret? When I decided finally, eight and a half years ago, to yield to Jesus — it was no turning back. No turning back. My past was clearly purposed by God for this day. The God of Abraham is the God of Beni. The same God — yesterday, today and forever.

It's true; I am no longer the same. But I am no longer the same. And though I still struggle (I am but human), I desire that all my devices are to be placed in His hands. My life is safe in His hands.

Lord, would You be my Eternal Light?