If you are in immediate danger or thinking of harming yourself, please reach out to emergency services in your area right now. You can also find a helpline in your country at
findahelpline.com. You are not alone, and it is brave to reach out.
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There are mornings when you wake and the old filth comes knocking at the door of your mind, and you feel the shame of it before your feet even touch the floor. I know that heaviness. It is like waking in a room where the air is stale with yesterday’s smoke, and you think, “Will I never breathe clean again?” But listen to me: the very fact that you hate the intrusion, that it sickens you, is proof that the new nature is alive in you. Dead men do not wrestle with ghosts. The struggle you feel is not the death-throe of your soul, it is the cry of a living child who wants the Father’s light.
You spoke of mornings being the hardest. I have found it so, too. The enemy loves to attack before the armor is fully buckled on. But think of it this way: when a ship has been through foul weather, the pumps must be worked most diligently at the first watch of the day, for the bilgewater gathers in the night. But the ship is not sinking. The Captain is aboard. The pumps are the simple means of grace, a cry, a verse whispered into the pillow, a deliberate turning of the mind to Christ as the sun comes up. You do not need to make grand prayers. A drowning man does not compose a sonnet; he gasps, “Save me!” and that gasp goes straight to the throne.
You are afraid because the old images pop up unbidden, and you feel you invited them long ago. But our Lord knew all that when He set His love upon you. Did you think His redemption was only for the tidy sins, the respectable stumbles? He came to lift His people out of the miry clay, and He knew the exact depth of the mire before He ever stretched out His hand. Your present detestation of it is the echo of His own holiness working in you. Do not be surprised that the devil haunts the ground where he once pitched his tent. He is a trespasser now, not a resident. The house is swept, and the Owner has returned.
That tiredness you feel, the sleeping more, the not feeling yourself, is part of the battle. The spirit wars against the flesh, and the flesh grows weary. But here is a sweet thing: when you have no strength of your own left, you are exactly where the Lord’s strength begins. We are all leaky cisterns, my dear heart. We hold a little resolve, a little determination, and by nightfall it has drained away through a thousand cracks. But Christ is not a cistern, He is a fountain, an artesian well springing up from infinite depths, never diminished by your drawing, never muddied by your failure. Lean your whole weight on that, not on the fragile plaster of your own promises.
As for the needs of your household, the food, the shelter, your dear mother’s bondage, the ache of poverty, the Lord has not forgotten. He who counts the stars and calls them all by name knows exactly how many coins are in your purse and how many days the hotel will hold. I rejoice with you that the table has been supplied; that is His doing. And when the lawyer seems deaf and no human helper appears, remember that the Lord’s thoughts toward you are vast as the sea. He is not a distant clockmaker who wound up the world and went to sleep. He is in the kitchen, in the hotel lobby, in the lawyer’s office, in the very air your mother breathes. He is thinking about you right now, thoughts of peace, not of evil, to give you an expected end.
What you said about rejecting that drawing commission touched me. You want to depend on God alone, not on the shifting favor of men. That is a noble longing, even if it felt painful at the time. But do not fret over the closed door. The Lord knows how to provide for His own, and He often sends His provision wrapped in a black-edged envelope, so to speak, means we did not expect, through ways we did not choose. The hand that closed that opportunity may be opening another that you cannot yet see. In the meantime, your drawing is a good gift from a cheerful Giver. Let it be a balm to your spirit, a quiet place of creation where you meet with the Creator.
And about your mother, you did right to name her with love, not with a stone. Every addiction is a cruel chain, and the chain-bearer is often a good soul caught in a vice that promised comfort and paid in misery. Pray for her. Love her. Your steadfastness may be the very lantern God uses to guide her to the door of freedom. Do not despair for her, for the One who broke the bars of death can surely snap the bonds of a habit.
I must say a word, too, about the fear of having an eating disorder. When the body’s hunger and the soul’s distress become tangled together, it is a heavy cross. Do not carry it alone in shame. The Lord has given wisdom to physicians and counselors; they are not a substitute for His care, but an arm of it. If you can find a safe person to speak with, do so. The Good Shepherd leads His sheep not in a straight, harsh line, but by still waters and through green pastures, and sometimes the pasture includes a gentle human hand.
Now, let me lift you where you belong: into the arms that will never let you go. You have a Savior who was tempted in all points yet without sin. He knows what it is to be assailed on a pinnacle in full view of the city, He knows what it is to be offered the world if He would only bow. He overcame, not by summoning legions of angels, but by a word: “It is written.” Store up a little word or two in your heart, dear one, and when the foul bird swoops at your window, fling that Word like a stone. “The blood of Jesus Christ cleanses us from all sin.” “I am His, and He is mine.” It will flee.
Heavenly Father, into Your keeping I commend this precious lamb. She is weary of the fight and almost afraid to hope for lasting cleanness. Do what she cannot do. Stand between her and the returning darkness, and let the morning find her wrapped in a peace she did not manufacture. Provide for her home, for her mother and siblings, in the surprising ways that are Your signature. Break the chains that bind her mother, and let freedom come like sunrise. Give her work for her hands and bread for her table, that she may know You are Jehovah Jireh, the Lord who sees and provides. And when the enemy whispers that she is defiled past mending, silence him with the voice that cried, “It is finished.” We ask it all in the name of Jesus, who has overcome the world. Amen.
Prayer Focus: God, Thank You for loving me. Thank You for loving me, Jesus. God, I ask You in Jesus’ name please bless me with everything that I stand in need of and everything You want me to have. 
