What God Does With What We Try to Forget
"I will restore to you the years that the locust has eaten.” — Joel 2:25
Yesterday, my phone rang.
I’m not usually a fan—I always feel a little caught off guard—but I answered anyway.
And there she was.
Big blue eyes.
Sun-kissed skin.
Looking right at me.
“Hey Mom… I need to talk to you real quick.”
I smiled. “Okay.”
Then she said, gently, “I don’t want this to be hard for you… but it’s important to me.”
Something in me paused.
“Okay,” I said again.
She told me she’s been trying to face her anxiety. Not avoid it. Not manage it. Face it.
“But I think I need to go back,” she said. “To when it started. What was going on around me. I need to find the seed.”
And just like that—we went back.
For forty-five minutes, we walked through her childhood. Moments, seasons, things I haven’t revisited in a long time.
And in the middle of that conversation, two things became clear to me.
God does not take us back to hurt us. He takes us back to heal us.
That’s what she was doing. And if I’m honest, it’s what He was doing in me too.
Because there was a time—not that long ago—when that conversation would have undone me. It would have been filled with shame, guilt, and that quiet voice that twists everything into failure.
I would have replayed it all. And when the call ended, I wouldn’t have felt reflective—I would have felt exposed.
Like I had failed her.
Like I wasn’t enough.
But that’s not where I live anymore.
Not because everything we talked about was easy—but because it didn’t carry the same weight. It felt honest. It felt like healing.
Not just for her, but for me.
This has been one of my deepest struggles—reconciling the choices I made when my girls were younger. The enemy has used that as bait for years, pulling me back into regret and keeping me questioning my worth.
And yesterday, I realized why.
Every time I went back before, I went back alone.
Or worse—I went back with the wrong voice leading the conversation.
But this time was different.
There was no condemnation in it.
Just clarity.
Just truth.
Just the quiet sense that God wasn’t exposing something to shame me—He was uncovering something to heal.
And I didn’t fall apart.
I stayed steady.
That alone felt like proof of what He’s already done in me.
And after we hung up, I realized something else.
By going back with her—without shame, without defensiveness, without running—I wasn’t just revisiting the past.
I was helping her break something.
The very places the enemy would love to plant fear, confusion, and anxiety were being brought into the light.
Jesus is setting her free.
And somehow, in His kindness, He let me be part of that.
Not because I did everything right—but because He redeems what we place in His hands.
Healing doesn’t mean the past disappears. It means it no longer has the same authority over you.
And maybe that’s the part we get wrong.
We think going back will break us.
When in reality, avoiding it is what keeps us bound to it.
But when you trust your past in the hands of Jesus, it changes the way you see it.
It’s no longer a weapon used against you.
It becomes something He redeems.
Yesterday didn’t feel heavy.
It felt like something was being untangled.
For her.
And for me.
And maybe that’s what healing actually looks like—
Not dramatic.
Not overwhelming.
Just a conversation you used to fear…
that no longer has the power to undo you
REFLECTION QUESTION
We often avoid the past because we’re afraid of what it will make us feel.
Shame. Regret. Grief.
But what if the issue isn’t the past itself—it’s who we invite into it with us?
The enemy uses our history to accuse us. God uses it to heal us.
What if the place you’ve been avoiding is the very place God is waiting to meet you?
MY PRAYER
Lord,
There are places in my story I’ve avoided for a long time.
Places that still carry weight.
Places that still try to define me.
But today, I choose to trust You with my past.
Not just the parts I’m proud of—but the parts I wish I could change.
Take me back, not to hurt me, but to heal me.
Silence every voice that tries to shame me and replace it with Your truth.
And if there are places where my healing can bring freedom to someone else—especially the people I love—
use me.
Redeem what I cannot undo.
Restore what I thought was lost.
And remind me that nothing placed in Your hands is wasted.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.
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