The Sword that Made Me

Inspired by Job 15:22 and the shedding of the old self

There was a time I did not believe

I would escape the dark.

Not because I didn’t want to,

but because the shadows were stitched into my skin,

like stories I was never allowed to tell.

I walked through silence,

where even my breath felt borrowed.

Where I feared I was reserved

for a sword I couldn’t see coming.

But deep in my spirit,

I knew it wasn’t the world

that had to be slain.

It was me.

The version of me

that clung to old wounds like a blanket.

The version that thought survival was identity.

So Jehovah,

with the tenderness of a surgeon

and the sharpness of truth,

brought the blade.

Not to destroy me,

but to peel back the pieces

that weren’t mine to carry.

The shame that wasn’t mine.

The guilt that was planted.

The silence that was forced.

“For the word of God is alive and exerts power

and is sharper than any two-edged sword…”

—Hebrews 4:12

He split marrow from bone—

not to harm me,

but to reveal what still pulsed beneath:

a heart that could still feel.

A soul not yet burned out.

I didn’t fall easily.

The old self fought back.

Told me I’d never be light.

That I was made for grief.

But Jehovah whispered,

“You are not your ashes.”

So I bled the falsehoods into the dirt.

Let the storm strip me bare.

And in the hush that followed,

I sprouted.

Not tall.

Not quickly.

But true.

A new branch.

Like a plant reborn at the scent of water.

Job 14:9—my backbone.

Now when I walk,

I carry no sword.

I carry the scar.

And that is enough.