I was raised to believe that God will forgive my sins. Not just mine, but all of ours. The worst of sinners, the most awful of sins — forgiven. That even when I’m at my worst, He loves me. That nothing I say or do, could ever diminish His love for me. Although I didn’t technically grow up practicing religion, I was raised to believe in God. In His goodness, in the power of prayer and the comfort of faith. These things have stuck with me my whole life. They’ve been an anchor when I have been at my lowest.
I feel like I’ve always been surrounded by prayer, by angels, by a higher power. There’s no other explanation for the times I’ve been in dangerous situations and survived them. It can only be His goodness and love for me that helps me get through the days when I can barely get out of bed. It can only be the prayers of my loved ones, for me. Knowing I’m loved and someone took time to pray for my well being feels like a gift. It feels like a gift, because it is.
As I’ve gotten older, I find myself turning to God more often. Praying for my family and friends, asking for forgiveness, thanking Him for my blessings. Believing in His goodness and in the goodness of others. Perfection doesn’t exist, but I know most of us try to do our best every day. Sometimes we fail and don’t always do the right things — that’s okay. If God can forgive us, we must also learn to forgive ourselves.