“Why is my life so empty?”
“Why is every moment so hard to get through?”
“Why do I constantly feel alone?”
“And why am I so numb?”
Before I understood the gospel, I had one answer to all of these questions: the context of my life.
Context is not content itself, but the lens through which content is understood. And crucially, it is something you cannot directly control; it is given to you.
The context of my upbringing and the abandonment I experienced as a young child. The context of the struggles I watched my mother endure because of it. The context of always having so many friends around me, yet always feeling empty and lonely. The context of the voices I heard in my mind, telling me there was no reason to be happy or have hope.
Then came the gospel. A story I had heard over and over growing up in church, but never really understood the relevance to my life. I couldn’t see the relevance until Christ opened my eyes in February 2015.
Before then, I couldn’t tell you what Christ’s sacrifice meant for anyone’s life. How did that change our circumstances beyond escaping hell? I didn’t know that His death meant my freedom and access to the sovereign God, who knew and loved me. To me, He had much more pressing matters to deal with than my somber little life.
If I could sum up my salvation story, it would be the second chapter of Ephesians. Verses 12 through 14 read, “remember that at that time you were separate from Christ, alienated from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers to the covenants of the promise, without hope and without God in the world. But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far away have been brought near through the blood of Christ. For He Himself is our peace…”
Those voices, the emptiness, and the sorrow that had stuck with me all my childhood because of my context could be washed away now that I had accepted Him. My record was clean, and the powers that tormented my mind were defeated. I was free, finally having stillness and peace in my mind.
Greater than that, I was free from my previous perspective. I had made determinations about my life, my value, and my future based on the context of my upbringing. God didn’t change my past or my personal circumstances. He broadened my context. Now, there was so much more to my story. I began to zoom out and realize that I lived in His view, in His house, with His children, at His right side, within His plan for my life. This is what I was now defined by.
But now, I knew that God saw me, knew me, and brought me close—not to shame me for my brokenness, but to experience His love and learn His way. He wanted me to be joyful, at peace, and whole. This changed what was written about me from that day on. In my mind and in my life. Where there was emptiness and loneliness, there was now joy and hope from the presence of the living God.
Eleven years later, I really love my life, because I get to live it with Him. Being His is the best thing about me. I’m not confined by the context of my upbringing, or my shortcomings, or my flaws, or my strengths, or my successes. It all fades, it’s a background to the beauty and blessing of knowing Him.
In his book, The Root of the Righteous, A.W. Tozer writes that God “communes with His redeemed ones in an easy, uninhibited fellowship that is restful and healing to the soul.”
If I could go back, I would share this quote with my younger self and let her know that it is our testimony. She had no idea how to really live as a Christian, and she honestly didn’t think she could make it. She was so afraid of failing. I would tell her that God is steadily walking with her, “willing and working in her to do His good pleasure” (Philippians 2:13), and she can rest assured that He is not going anywhere.
This piece is a guest post written by Jada-Mercy Ayebae. Want to connect more with Jada? Check out her blog: The Written Record
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