Felicia found that the hardest part wasn't confessing—it was believing that God still *wanted* her. That even after the years of silence, the secret shame, and the cycles she couldn't break, He *still* chose her.
There were nights she'd stare at the ceiling and whisper:
"God, are You really still here?"
"Do You still love me?"
"Am I truly forgiven?"
But time after time, He answered—not always through loud revelations, but in quiet, steady ways:
— A worship song that spoke directly to her pain.
— A verse she had never noticed suddenly coming alive.
— A conversation that made her feel seen.
— Peace settling on her heart like morning dew.
One day during devotion, she read Romans 8:38-39:
*"Nothing can separate us from the love of God…"*
She sat there, stunned.
Not even what I did?
Not even what I thought?
Not even the parts I'm still healing from?
The answer was clear: *Nothing.*
That verse became her anchor. Every time doubt crept in, she'd recite it. Every time shame whispered, she'd respond, "But nothing separates me."
Slowly, her relationship with God became less about performance and more about presence. She stopped trying to *earn* love and began to simply *receive* it.
She realized that God wasn't waiting for a perfect version of her—He wanted *her heart*, as it was.
That changed everything.
She no longer served to be accepted—she served because she was loved.
She no longer prayed out of guilt—she prayed because she missed His voice.
She no longer hid from God—she ran to Him, scars and all.
Felicia began to trust again—not just in God's love, but in His *consistency*. The God who had met her in her lowest moments was the same One walking her into a beautiful future.
And that, she decided, was the greatest miracle of all.