There has been someone on the journey with me for as long as I can remember.  She is not a friend.  She mutters, not audibly, but I hear it nonetheless.  I know she is in the employ of another, one who would destroy me.  I call her Depression because that is where she takes me.  I look in the mirror and she looks too.  She tells me my hips are too big, my face too narrow, my hair too flat.  I go about my daily chores and she says that my life has no value,  I’m not very good at maintaining a home, I lose my temper too much with the boys, at best my cooking is mediocre.  Her voice drips like honey and what she says sounds true.  Her aim is to lure me off the straight and narrow down a slippery slope into a pit of despair.  Sometimes I listen to her.

There is another companion on the journey.  He sticks closer than a brother.  He speaks in a still, small voice but what he says is true.   At the mirror he tells me that I am fearfully and wonderfully made, that I am his workmanship.  As I clean my home and care for my children he reminds me that my work is not in vain, that he sees it and values it and will one day reward it.  When I start to stray from the truth, he is faithful to shepherd me back into the way.  He’s a good friend, the best friend a person could have.  He is for me and not against me.

All day long both speak to me and I get to choose who I will listen too.  If I let the mutterer’s words sink into my heart, I spiral down and feel worthless.  If I listen to the truth-speaker, I have peace and joy.  Every day, all day long, I get to choose and the choices I make determine my feelings.  I am not powerless.  I can’t control circumstances but I can control what I think about.  I can choose to entertain the truth or I can choose to dwell on the lie.  The choice I make makes all the difference.

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