Lately, I’ve been feeling like I have to serve in the ministry of everything. As in, I know the addresses to so many levels of pain I could write a phonebook including a description. Once you’ve experienced something and you’ve survived it becomes your ministry. I have so many ministries. It started with the ministry of rape and molestation. Then other forms of abuse became my ministry too. Those ministries led to the ministry of addiction and mental illness. There are so many ministries inside of me.

I’m still trying to learn the difference between being private and suffering alone, an ugly habit of mine. It seems as though the best of times and the worst of times somehow try to visit always at the same time, at least for me. I truly hate what feels like dropping my pain off on others when I express the echoes of my trials and tribulations. I tend to feel so guilty after I do, but I know it’s just the enemy wanting me to continue in my habit of suffering alone, always telling everyone I’m fine, only to cry my eyes out the minute no one is looking.

Now there is a new ministry, miscarriage! Miscarriages feel like someone lifted you really high in the air and let you go. When you finally hit the ground, and you break into all those pieces, you realize you landed on a deserted island with nobody to put you back together but God! Crazy how, after you miscarry, though you miscarried a baby, you’re left feeling like somebody miscarried you. My faith tells me there is another side to all the suffering in my life. I hold dear to all the stories in the bible where God always blessed his suffering children. I can’t think of even one story when he didn’t. God is faithful, I know he is; no matter how much the enemy tries to convince me that he’s not.