SHOULDER TO SHOULDER WITH THE DEVIL ~ 1
SLIDE ONE
There are people who meet the devil once.
A sudden tragedy.
A single betrayal.
One terrible day.
And then there are those of us who walk beside him for years.
Not because we invited him.
Not because we welcomed him.
But because life placed him on the road ahead and said, "Keep walking."
I met him when I was young.
Not with horns or fire.
He came dressed as grief.
He stood beside a grave and watched as I buried the first man I ever loved—my father.
I was too young to understand death.
Too young to know that some departures never stop hurting.
From that day onward, the devil rarely left my side.
Sometimes he called himself loneliness.
Sometimes he called himself fear.
Sometimes he wore the face of violence.
Sometimes humiliation.
Sometimes abandonment.
Sometimes sorrow so heavy that breathing felt like work.
I learned how to smile while carrying broken things.
I learned how to laugh while bleeding internally.
I learned how to survive.
Years passed.
The world called me strong.
But strength is often misunderstood.
People think strength means defeating the devil.
It doesn't.
Sometimes strength is simply refusing to become him.
Refusing to let bitterness replace kindness.
Refusing to let hatred replace love.
Refusing to let pain replace faith.
I walked beside darkness for so long that I began to recognize its voice.
It told me I was forgotten.
It told me I was unworthy.
It told me my wounds would never heal.
It told me God had abandoned me.
Yet every morning I woke up.
Every morning I took another step.
And every step became an act of rebellion.
Today, when I look back, I realize something.
I was never truly shoulder to shoulder with the devil.
I was walking through a valley where he happened to be waiting.
But there was Another walking there too.
Silent.
Patient.
Carrying me on the days I could not carry myself.
The devil knew my pain.
But God knew my name.
And in the end, one of them would leave.
The other would stay.
Comments
Post a Comment