Release

Journal Entry. The 5th of July, 2026th. 1:05AM

I had always persuaded myself that to let go was impossible, until God was pleased to show me that it was not.

Through all those years wherein I lived in sin, and even afterward, when the outward thing had ceased but the sin continued its life within my mind, this remembrance remained with me. Yet the LORD, in His own time, brought me unto a place of entire surrender; and I can truly say that I regret nothing which I surrendered there.

Had the memory of her been some material thing which I could hold in my hands, I think I should long ago have cast it unto the sea, never to reach for it again. But it was not in my hands. It was in me. And there it clung like leprosy. It required the power of God to free both my heart and mind—not by causing me to forget, but by causing me to behold Christ as greater. Incomparably greater.

I cannot number the times I besought God to take this thing away from me. Again and again I desired only that it might be ended, that the memory might trouble me no more, and that I might at last be free of it. But the lessons of the LORD concerning it were far from finished. I had thought deliverance would consist in forgetting. He was teaching me that there is a greater liberty than this: to remember, and yet to find Christ infinitely more precious than the thing remembered.

Formerly my prayer was chiefly, Lord, take this away from me, and let it be done. Now I find another petition within me. Lord, purify my mind also.

For I desire not merely to be delivered from the tyranny of the remembrance. I would have even those inward chambers wherein it once found lodging cleansed and brought beneath the obedience of Christ. These relentless whisperings within my mind, though grievous to bear, have served only to drive me into a greater dependence upon the grace of God. I cannot overcome them by any strength of mine own; and being thus made sensible of my weakness, I am compelled again and again to go unto Him.

And there I find Him.

Not weary of my coming, nor unwilling to receive me because I have brought the same trouble before Him a thousand times; but ever ready to comfort this poor soul, and to supply that grace which I have no power to supply unto myself. Thus even the thing which troubleth me becometh an occasion of drawing me nearer unto Christ. I would gladly be rid of the whispering; yet I cannot regret that it hath taught me where continually to flee. The wounds, I suppose, shall remain whilst this flesh remaineth with me; but the balm of Christ is given afresh every day.

And herein I have found another mercy. I might long ago have fallen away beneath the weight of mine own condemnation, persuading myself that one so weak and wounded was altogether unworthy to speak of Him. But the Lord continually remindeth me that my helplessness doth not disqualify me from showing forth His grace. Rather, it leaveth no room for mistaking whose power sustaineth me.

Had I strength enough in myself, I might have imagined that I stood by it. But being made painfully sensible that I have none, every continuance, every rising again, every word I am yet enabled to speak of Christ, becometh a testimony that the power is His and not mine.

Thus the very weakness which would persuade me to be silent hath become a fit place for His grace to be seen. The wound remaineth. But so doth the balm; and the balm is Christ.

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