I met Abbie through Instagram during my stay in the hospital last year. I am SO thrilled to have her share her story on here! Make sure to check out her writing over on her blog, http://www.abbiegmeyer.com/!
Tears fell freely from my eyes, as she prayed over me- revealing to me that that she was receiving a picture of the prodigal son- with his father running towards him, arms wide open. I was 18, and felt so far from the Father that He was almost nonexistent from me. I felt like God’s stepchild- the one He could care less if I was around, and the one blown off- never heard, never understood. This prayer was the first time I ever began to foster the possibility that I was loved. Loved in a way that HE was running towards ME- broken, riddled with sin, and ugly in my selfishness. It was too much to bear and I wrestled with this image for years to come.
I grew up in in a two parent and Christ centered home- with parents who deeply loved the Lord, and deeply loved me. I was lucky, but felt far from. I had three siblings who flourished in whatever they tried- music, sports, writing, reading, school work- you name it. They were full of natural talent, and I was full of longing. I was disappointing my family often. My independent and adventurous spirit often showed its ugly colors of rebellion. I lashed out often because I had a deep longing to be heard. I based my life on the assumption that I did not belong, and therefore was never going to be fully accepted. I craved love in a way that the body craves water after an intense work out. I constantly felt not enough. I often questioned my parents love for me because I was afraid I would lose it in an instant. I ran after God in a curiously fast and furious way, but often felt rejected by Him. Why couldn’t I feel His love back? I wondered. I remembered once, when I was about 9 years old, crying because I just longed to sit on God’s lap and feel Him hugging me back. I was a feeler, to say the least. Those feelings led to a deep intuition about myself and others, but also become a source for deep sorrow.
As a result, in my teenage years, I ran straight into the arms of every wrong guy. The more I hear other women’s hearts, the more I recognize how heartbreakingly common this is. The equation is this: we want love + we don’t feel good enough = we head straight towards to the first person who affirms us. I threw myself towards anyone who would pay attention. The irony is that I still didn’t feel good enough. After each break up or rejection, I sunk deeper into the pit of I’m not worth anything. My friendships were based off of how fun I was, and so I was the girl who was up for anything. I snuck out almost nightly to party or meet up with a different guy. I crossed more boundaries than I would like to admit- both in myself and others. Because the point of my story is to bring glory to the only One who could change my heart, I will not go into too many details because, frankly, they aren’t important beyond the parts of us that longed to be fully known. But this is not a story about me. This is a story about redemption. But please know this- I was a mess. Physically, emotionally, sexually, mentally- I tore up every piece of myself that felt rejected and gave it away to anyone who asked. My brother once described me at this time as an empty shell- and I was. I didn’t care about anything but feeling full of affirmation and worth, and I did not care where I was going to get it.
When I was 18, I decided to take a missions trip and spend the summer in Swaziland, Africa. I had wanted to travel to Africa ever since I was 12, and had seen the documentary Invisible Children. I realized if I was going to serve and become a “good person”, I needed to “get right” with God. I started making small changes. I began to read Crazy Love- a book that digs deep into the Father’s love for me. To be honest, it didn’t do much for me while I was reading it. It felt like a whole lot of sentiment packed into a pretty book and tied with a pretty bow, but nothing that applied to me. I only knew that God of distance, not the God of intimate love. It wasn’t until that moment, the one spoken of above, where I was being prayed over in preparation to leave for Swaziland, when I finally began to accept that maybe, just maybe, God was the Father, and I was the broken, sinful, and dirty son running straight into the arms of unconditional acceptance. Was this what my soul had been yearning for? Was it as simple as just truly believing His promise of love?
That summer in Swaziland was one of beautiful transformation for me. The Lord spoke, and my heart all up, for I was starving for His Words. We served, yes- but most importantly, I learned that He loves. Oh, how He loves. I learned of severe poverty coexisting with peace, of the power of quiet meditation, and of the meaning of prayer. I learned what obedience was, and what community looked like, and how to be fully known and still fully loved. It was not an easy transition back into the “real world”. I am going to be honest and say that transformation was not instant. I slowly had to surrender what I had pursued in an effort to be fully alive and fully free. I still drank some. I still partied some. I still ran into guys’ arms, instead of the Father’s. I remember pouring over Lamentations after a boy I thought I loved rejected me, my tears cleansing my soul. But instead of reacting how I used to, that rejection drove me deeper into Christ’s heart. It was a painful process- the process of taking up my cross and walking with Jesus. It still is. My baggage just looks difference these days. For example, instead of looking for affirmation in men (praise Jesus that He gave me a strong, gentle, stead-fast man to marry and walk life with), I struggle with finding affirmation in friends or online community. But the difference now is that I have found the One whom my soul loves, and I am never leaving Him. Again and again I stumble, and again and again I turn around and run back into the loving arms of the One who loved me first. I am still broken and damaged and dirty a lot of days. It might be a little less broken and damaged and dirty, but I am still human nonetheless. But my Savior is One who makes me whole and righteous and clean. He is the one that I will always run back to. I am that prodigal son, trudging up the driveway, only to see his Father, tears streaming and running open armed saying “my child! You have come home at last.”
When I was 18, I decided to take a missions trip and spend the summer in Swaziland, Africa. I had wanted to travel to Africa ever since I was 12, and had seen the documentary Invisible Children. I realized if I was going to serve and become a “good person”, I needed to “get right” with God. I started making small changes. I began to read Crazy Love- a book that digs deep into the Father’s love for me. To be honest, it didn’t do much for me while I was reading it. It felt like a whole lot of sentiment packed into a pretty book and tied with a pretty bow, but nothing that applied to me. I only knew that God of distance, not the God of intimate love. It wasn’t until that moment, the one spoken of above, where I was being prayed over in preparation to leave for Swaziland, when I finally began to accept that maybe, just maybe, God was the Father, and I was the broken, sinful, and dirty son running straight into the arms of unconditional acceptance. Was this what my soul had been yearning for? Was it as simple as just truly believing His promise of love?
That summer in Swaziland was one of beautiful transformation for me. The Lord spoke, and my heart all up, for I was starving for His Words. We served, yes- but most importantly, I learned that He loves. Oh, how He loves. I learned of severe poverty coexisting with peace, of the power of quiet meditation, and of the meaning of prayer. I learned what obedience was, and what community looked like, and how to be fully known and still fully loved. It was not an easy transition back into the “real world”. I am going to be honest and say that transformation was not instant. I slowly had to surrender what I had pursued in an effort to be fully alive and fully free. I still drank some. I still partied some. I still ran into guys’ arms, instead of the Father’s. I remember pouring over Lamentations after a boy I thought I loved rejected me, my tears cleansing my soul. But instead of reacting how I used to, that rejection drove me deeper into Christ’s heart. It was a painful process- the process of taking up my cross and walking with Jesus. It still is. My baggage just looks difference these days. For example, instead of looking for affirmation in men (praise Jesus that He gave me a strong, gentle, stead-fast man to marry and walk life with), I struggle with finding affirmation in friends or online community. But the difference now is that I have found the One whom my soul loves, and I am never leaving Him. Again and again I stumble, and again and again I turn around and run back into the loving arms of the One who loved me first. I am still broken and damaged and dirty a lot of days. It might be a little less broken and damaged and dirty, but I am still human nonetheless. But my Savior is One who makes me whole and righteous and clean. He is the one that I will always run back to. I am that prodigal son, trudging up the driveway, only to see his Father, tears streaming and running open armed saying “my child! You have come home at last.”
I’m a 25 year old living out of the abundance of Jesus’ unending grace and mercy. I thrive off of deep vulnerability and connection with others, while striving to live into the call of outpouring encouragement onto others. Often described as feisty, passionate, talkative, and compassionate, I am ENFJ through and through. You’ll most likely find me training for a race, handlettering or painting, whipping up a new healthy and whole recipe in the kitchen, singing worship songs at the top of my lungs in my car, or watching the Office with my husband. What do I love most? Pretty light, hearing people’s stories of redemption, peonies, my husband’s smile, white walls, and the smell of rain.
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