Thin Air, High Hope

This morning, while reading my Bible, a memory surfaced.

During my teenage years, I made a series of regrettable choices, including shoplifting. One morning, before school, I found myself in a local store. For some reason, that morning, I decided not to take anything. My friend and I had separated briefly. When we met up again, she had a pack of cigarettes that I assumed she had purchased. She asked me to hold them in my purse, and I agreed.

As we exited the store, an angry manager pursued us, demanding to inspect my purse. Confident that I hadn’t taken anything, I immediately emptied it for him. That’s when the truth became clear: my friend hadn’t paid for the cigarettes.

In the moments that followed, a whirlwind of thoughts raced through my mind. I could see the fear in my friend’s eyes, knowing the volatile nature of her home life and her father’s uncontrolled anger. I also knew my own father—he was kind, patient, and slow to anger. I was certain that if I accepted the blame at that moment, my father would believe me and help me navigate the situation. So, driven by an impulsive sense of compassion, I took responsibility.

Looking back, I can’t say this was the wisest choice. The manager was furious, and I spent the day at the police station, providing fingerprints and having my photo taken. The incident even went to court, undoubtedly causing immense stress for my parents. However, this morning, I’m reminded of my Dad.

Despite my history of poor choices, he trusted me. From the instant my stepmother (who truly deserves angelic status for what she endured during those years) picked me up from the police station to the day the matter was resolved in court, I never felt doubted. I knew he believed in me, even if he didn’t agree with the decision I had made.

This experience has deeply shaped my belief in God. Over the years, like anyone else, I’ve wrestled with moments of self-doubt, and battled the shadows of my past that loom over me, breeding shame. I’ve grappled with feelings of inadequacy and the fear of others’ opinions. And yet, I find solace in this passage:

“Those who look to Him for help will be radiant with joy; no shadow of shame will darken their faces.” (Psalm 34:5)

As a teenager, the only person’s opinion that truly mattered to me was my father’s. I may not have made the wisest decision, but my choice was entirely based on my perception of my Dad’s character and his love for me.

Today, I’m continually reminded of these qualities in my heavenly Father. God is kind and patient, slow to anger, and always seeking opportunities to show love (2 Samuel 14:14). Despite my extensive history of wrongdoings, which He is acutely aware of, He promises never to let shame cloud my face. Every time I turn to Him for help, He assures me of His rescue.

Regardless of how I perceive myself, the shadows cast by my past, or the judgments of others, His opinion is the only one that holds significance.

And for some incomprehensible reason, one that both astonishes and frees me, He not only loves me but finds joy in me. Though I may not completely grasp it, I’ve glimpsed it to be true.

“For the Lord your God is living among you. He is a mighty savior. He will take delight in you with gladness. With his love, he will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.” (Zephaniah 3:17)

(While it might seem fitting to save this post for Father’s Day or a special occasion to express my gratitude to my Dad for this memory, it surfaced in my mind today—just an ordinary Wednesday. I couldn’t think of a better time to share it.)

Curious…

• Can you recall a moment when someone’s kindness or patience gave you a deeper understanding of God’s heart for you?