25 whole years in. And I’m still alive. Surprise.
I remember the first time I cursed my existence. I was a wee kindergarten, I think.
I remember the time where I attempted suicide, rushing myself to a busy road hoping to get crushed by a rushing car.
I remember the times where I questioned the purpose of life itself, the seeming vanity of its unchanging cycle. And the unending suffering it brings. The vanity. The meaninglessness. The striving after the wind. The cycle.
Yet here I am, still breathing.
Yet surprisingly, I found something else.
I found hope that this world cannot offer.
I found joy that is worth fighting for.
I found purpose in the light of suffering.
I found a reason to live and to die for.
I found something that is worth risking my everything.
And when life snaps, hopefully I can look back and see that this vapor-like life was not used on nothing. That it was faithfully expended on something. That it was used for some lasting good thing. That it was given up for the LORD Christ Jesus.
Yet not by my might or my reason, but by the amazing grace of the sovereign God, from whom every lasting good thing comes from.
Yet not I.
But from, through, and to Him, from whom my life flows from — redeemed; and to whom it will return to — by faith.