I suppose by now that you who have so graciously explored my blog or had some contact with me as a person know, if nothing else, my name. But for those of you whom I have yet to meet: Allow me to introduce myself and tell my story--a story which is not yet complete but which I beg you to read anyway, that you might realize the great power of our God and know His redeeming work in your own life. Walk with me.
My name is Miranda Dupree. I was born in 1995 to a Christian family and was raised as any typical Christian. My family prayed sometimes, went to church, sent me to a Christian school, talked about God--and the like. I am thoroughly grateful for this, for, by God’s grace, it laid a solid foundation for my faith and, quite literally, saved my life. My gently sarcastic tone, therefore, is not derived from nonchalance about this upbringing but is rather meant to reveal that, for a long time, Christianity was not important to me. I knew about God, I had memorized many portions of His word, I excelled in my Bible classes, and I wasn’t too bad at following the rules. I accepted Christ when I was five, at a gas station in the rain…but it was all words, all surface.
If you know anything about faith, surface stuff doesn’t fly. It’s a fence, perhaps, guarding you from certain thoughts and actions, but it’s not much more than that. As I moved through elementary school, this was certainly the case. Not realizing that all the verses I had memorized actually applied to my life, I was left with the vague idea that God had created the world and saved me, or thereabouts, and that was the end of that story. Someday I’d die and go to heaven, probably, but, for now, I was here on my own. And, honestly, I wasn’t too happy about that notion, for I considered myself pretty incapable of succeeding in life. I had been told by many (likely unintentionally) that I was too quiet, that my communication skills were practically non-existent, that my decision-making skills were even more absent, and that my emotions were misplaced and ill-expressed.
In fifth and sixth grade, being convinced of my inability to function as a normal human being, I struggled with jealousy constantly, always wishing to be something--anything--besides who I was. I was furious with God for creating me. I tried to cope with this anger and frustration by simply pretending like it wasn’t there, like I was a completely different person. This mask was comfortable enough for a while, but the more I fell into pretense, the more I became aware of the fact that, deep down, I really wasn’t who I wanted (and pretended) to be. My thoughts gradually became consumed with one phrase: I hate myself. I whispered it. I screamed it. And every time I said it, I knew I meant more than just that: I hated myself, but I also hated the God who had created me. For years, I wrestled with this phrase. I considered suicide, but I found that I was too afraid of meeting the God whose presence I could hardly bear without seeing His face. I suppose I could summarize my position in life by saying that I had no desire to live and no desire to die. It was miserable.
Eventually, sometime in seventh grade, I figured that this was ridiculous. Instead of screaming my habitual phrase at God, I decided to actually talk to Him. (I didn’t bother to consider listening, but it was a start.) I told Him, as simply as I could (and as if He hadn’t been listening to all my screaming in the years preceding this), that I did not like myself, that I did not like Him much either, and that I did not want to live. Acting on the flawed theology that I had stored up in my stubborn mind, I said something to the effect of, “I know all you want is my life. Take it. Kill me, if you want, or use me for whatever you wish. I’m tired of fighting you. You can have me.” In saying this, I pictured Him jumping up like a child and running to me with an ignorant smile, happy to have permission at last to play with this new toy without regard for its feelings. I fully expected him to use me like a little robot, moving me nonchalantly through the rest of my life until I died and joined the trash pile with the rest of His expired playthings. It didn’t sound like a particularly pleasant life, but I figured it would be better than the one I had been living.
Thinking I had straightened everything out between myself and the annoying, selfish deity I thought I knew, I waited for Him to pick up the remote and start doing something. My anger had been drained, and though I still found myself unable to muster any good thought about who I was, it didn’t bother me so much anymore. Life was dreary and pointless, and I was exhausted, but at least I wasn’t wrestling anymore. I did what I had to do during the day, and I laughed a little sometimes too; but my whole being was worn out. I wanted meaning and purpose, but the motivation to look for it disappeared as I began to believe it could not be found--not for me, anyway. I figured I just wasn’t good enough to have that privilege.
Then something--or, rather, someone--caught my eye. His name was Mr. Uwarow. He was my Bible teacher in eighth and ninth grade, and he was well known at the school for his knowledge of Scripture, his love for students, and his humor. What stood out to me, though, was that he was the first person I ever saw struggle in life and yet hang on to God in the midst of it. He clung to God as though his life depended on it, and I know it did. God was everything to him. I watched Mr. Uwarow lose his wife to cancer while I was in his class. I don’t know if there could have been anything more difficult than this. I watched him hurt, but he wasn’t just hurting. He was at peace. He clung to God with even more fervor than before (if that was possible). In watching him and listening to his faithful teaching, I realized that he knew something about God that I didn’t know--something that gave him peace despite the worst suffering, something that made life worth living and God worth serving. And, slowly, I began to understand what I had been missing all along.
You see, when I surrendered my life to God at first, I figured I had given Him what He wanted. I gave Him my life. I thought He’d just pick up the control and get going. I was wrong though. He didn’t want my life. He wanted me.
This realization changed everything. I was—and still am—inexplicably humbled to think that God wanted me. He wanted me. I was the person who had told Him for years that I hated Him. I was the person that everyone else seemed to think was useless. I didn’t even want myself! But God saw something different. He saw me as one whom He had created for His glory, one who was hurting because she had strayed so far from His love, one whom He loved enough to die for. All He wanted was for me to turn my face to Him. By His grace, I did this at last. I surrendered myself to Him again--not just my life this time, but myself--and I told Him that I wanted Him. I knew I didn’t know Him yet, but I wanted to. I wanted a relationship with Him. I wanted to experience everything He had to offer. I wanted to participate in the life He had given me, to run with Him wherever He led because I knew that He was the One I had been searching for ever since I was born.
With this, my whole life changed. In Him, I found purpose, meaning, hope, joy, peace, love--everything I could ever dream of and more. I began to love life, to love people, and even to love myself--not in pride but in awe of the ways I saw God changing me. I found that everything I had been told about myself was dreadfully incorrect. I dove into Scripture, into philosophy, and into observation of creation in an effort to understand everything I could about Him, and the more I discovered, the more I loved my blessed Savior. I truly found that a life with Him was a life worth living, and I began to love every minute of it.
Here, I must remind you, my reader, that this is not the end of the story. You must know that my life has been quite painful, quite difficult. I won’t go into detail here, for this post is already long. Contact me if you’d like more. But I must tell you that as I walk with God--even in the worst pain--I lack nothing. His joy, His love, His peace--everything He is makes life worth living. As I look back on my story, I can see that He has changed me more than I can find words to describe. He has taken a mess and is truly changing it into a masterpiece, His masterpiece--a beautiful creation for which only He could take credit. He is so gentle, so perfect.
After reading my story, my hope is that you can find this same peace. Only your Creator can satisfy you. Turn to Him. Know that He wants you, and that He can--and will--make you a masterpiece for His glory. As He spoke so famously to Israel, “’For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future’” (Jeremiah 29:11). A life sold out to God is one that is truly worth living.
If you want to experience this, open His word. Here's a great place to start: The Roman Road. Or, if you too have found Christ to be everything you could ever need, I invite you to join me. Share your story here.
In closing, I find nothing more appropriate than praise for the One who has saved my life.
"O LORD, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth! You have set your glory above the heavens. From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise because of your enemies, to silence the foe and the avenger. When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, the son of man that you care for him? You made him a little lower than the heavenly beings and crowned him with glory and honor. You made him ruler over the works of your hands; you put everything under his feet: all flocks and herds, and the beasts of the field, the birds of the air, and the fish of the sea, all that swim the paths of the seas. O LORD, our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth!" --Psalm 8
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