“If it matters to you, it matters to God,” read my friend’s fridge magnet. I thought it was a lovely sentiment when I first read these words at my friend’s place several years ago.
I love relating to God as Father, and I worship Him as King; I want to obey Jesus, my Lord and Savior; and I desire to listen to the Holy Spirit as a Counsellor and Teacher to me.
I felt betrayed. Maybe God had forgotten about me? How could He let grief wreak such havoc on my family? It just didn’t make sense. I, like everyone else in the family, had believed for so many months that my mother would get better.
It’s that season of the year again. My church calls it the “evangelism season”. My Pastor tells us to rise up in evangelistic fervor, saying that it’s the best time to invite friends and family to church.
Whenever I think about my past mistakes, I end up wasting the rest of my day by wallowing in self-pity. There’s no hope for me. I’ve made too many mistakes, too many regrets.