There’s a moment of truth—a point where the sheer disgust with who we’ve become drives us to God, to consciousness. For me, it wasn’t a gentle nudge but a full collapse—failure, depression, a blackness so heavy it left me paralyzed. The illusion of control crumbled, and with it came a physical wretching, as though the pain itself was clawing its way out of my body.
I remember sobbing in the shower of a psych ward, convinced I was about to explode from the inside out. And then—something shifted. A release. A crack in the suffering. For just a moment, I believe God eased the pain, enough for me to surrender. Not because I was strong, but because I was completely broken.
“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” —Psalm 34:18
I stood in silence—not in peace, but in sheer exhaustion. Yet even there, surrounded by others battling their own demons, I felt something new: I knew I was going to be okay. Somehow, God had cracked open the door, just enough to let in a sliver of light.
That’s when I began to truly listen—to others, to direction, to voices outside of my own willful blindness. As if those around me were spiritual guides sent to lead me home.
In some strange way, I believe God allowed my ego, my self-will, to destroy itself. Or perhaps He simply watched me burn it all down—patiently waiting to help me rebuild. Either way, I had died a death of self. And it was exactly what I needed.
From that place of total ruin, I didn’t pray the desperate foxhole prayer. I prayed from a place of surrender, of servanthood. I wasn’t begging to be saved—I was asking to be used. That, I believe, was my salvation. Not the rescue from pain, but the rebirth into purpose.
The greatest gift I’ve ever received from God was to be crushed—to be a living corpse, discarded by the world. And in that mercy, He raised me from the ashes and awakened a consciousness I never imagined was there.
It was then that I finally stepped away from my thoughts, from my identity, and found something deeper. I discovered the soul that had always been there—buried beneath layers of illusion and fear.
This life, with all its triumphs and heartaches, is the soul’s journey back to God—whether in this life or the next.
