Dear Abba,
I am here again because I have done something I do not think can be forgiven.
I have been praying for a child for eight years, and there has been no fruit. You know how hard my husband and I have prayed — on our knees, with open hearts — and yet nothing. Two miscarriages. My life feels like it is spinning out of control, and somewhere along the way, I began to believe I had been forgotten, that I would never carry a child to term.
So she took me somewhere. To a man who makes things happen.
I had heard of the things he had done for people — remarkable things —, and I was so tired of waiting that I couldn’t believe I agreed to go. This was a friend I trusted. Someone I never would have imagined knowing a man like that. She told me whatever we did in church stays in church, but when we leave the house of worship, we sort things ourselves. Those were her exact words.
When I arrived, I could not believe how many women were there. Women just like me, dealing with the same things, while I had been crying out to you in church with an open heart. The solution felt closer than ever.
At that point, my husband had already resigned himself to the possibility that he would never be a father. He still encouraged me, held my spirit up most of the time. But the thought crept in — what if he leaves? He could still have a family. For me, time was running out.
The ritual drained the life out of me the moment it was done. I knew immediately I had brought something dark into my home. And now I cannot get rid of it. There is an entity here — I see it, I hear it. The sounds it makes are the cries of a child. I wanted a child, not a demon that mimics one. The nightmares started not long after. Sleep paralysis that leaves me bedridden for hours, unable to move, unable to scream.
Then one morning, my husband got up. He did not say good morning. He did not look for his keys or check his phone the way he always did. He just stood there for a moment, stared at me with the most empty expression I have ever seen on a human face — like he was looking straight through me — and then he turned around and walked out the door. No bags. No argument. No goodbye. He never came back. To this day, I do not know whether he left on his own or if something compelled him to leave.
I went back to the man, but he was nowhere to be found. My friend has ghosted me. I am completely alone with whatever I invited in.
What I would not give to return to the life I once had. Everything you gave me was a blessing beyond measure, but the desire of my heart became an altar — and I laid the wrong thing on it. Now, I do not know how to get back to what I once had.
But I am back. On my knees. At your feet. Seeking your presence and your forgiveness.
Help me, Father. For your name’s sake, help me.
Your Daughther
Ruth.
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