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Chapter 1

 

The weight of my failures pressed heavily on my chest, each breath a reminder of my inadequacy. The leaders had spoken again today, their words sharp and cold. They spoke of laws that seemed insurmountable, standards that no mere human could achieve. Yet, they stood there, draped in their self-righteousness, looking down upon us with eyes that saw only our shortcomings.
I stood among the crowd, feeling smaller with every passing moment. My heart pounded against my ribcage, a desperate rhythm of guilt and despair. Religion had carved its rules into my soul, demanding perfection in an imperfect world. I had tried, oh how I had tried, to meet their expectations. But each attempt ended in failure, leaving me more broken than before.
“Do you think you can ever be worthy?” one of the leaders had asked me once, his voice dripping with disdain.
I had no answer then and still had none now. Worthiness seemed like a distant dream, an oasis in a desert of endless striving. Shame wrapped itself around me like a suffocating cloak, its whispers constant and cruel.
Lucifer’s shadow loomed large in this place. He thrived on our misery, fed on our self-loathing. The leaders, blinded by their own pride, didn’t see how they played into his hands. They spoke of holiness, but their actions betrayed them. They ruled from their lofty perches, wielding power through fear and control.
“Obey the laws,” they commanded. “Only then will you find favor.”
But what favor could there be in this endless cycle of condemnation? Each failure was met with punishment, each mistake a step further from grace. I watched others around me crumble under the weight as well. We were all prisoners in this twisted game.
In the dark corners of my mind, I wondered if there was something more than this relentless pursuit of unattainable goals. Was there a place where love existed without conditions? A place where forgiveness wasn’t just a word but a reality?
“Christ,” I whispered into the emptiness one night, hoping against hope for an answer.
There was no immediate response; just the sound of my own breathing and the oppressive silence that followed. Yet something stirred within me—an inkling that perhaps beyond the rigid walls of religion lay something greater.
For now, though, shame remained my constant companion and Lucifer laughed from his throne as we stumbled through our days in search of an impossible redemption.

Chapter 2

Like chains around my soul, I couldn’t feel good about God or myself. He required the impossible, I said. Shame ruled my day. The announcement echoed through the square. “All who broke the law, come forward and kneel, or face eternal damnation and be burnt forever in Hell.” Week after week, I fell on my knees, weeping for my lack of perfection. My body trembled with each sob; shoulders hunched under the invisible weight of my failures. The leaders watched from their high podiums; their faces carved from stone. I was under the spell of religion. Its grip tightened with every prayer, every failed attempt to meet its demands. My parents had beaten shame into me. Their disappointment hung in the air like a storm cloud, ever present, ever threatening. “Why can’t you do anything right?” My father’s voice still haunted me, even years later. I hid in the dark corners of our small house, wondering where love was. The shadows became my refuge, a place where their voices couldn’t reach me. But even there, the questions gnawed at my mind. What is love? Why doesn’t God love us? I stared at the ceiling, tears blurring my vision. It felt like an eternity since I’d felt anything close to love or acceptance. Why did He allow failure, disease, murder, hatred in our world? The sermons offered no comfort—only more rules and harsher consequences for breaking them. Each word from the pulpit felt like another lash on an already raw back. What is this place of faith? Faith was supposed to be a sanctuary, but it felt more like a prison. I watched others around me with vacant eyes; they were as lost as I was. We knelt together in misery but suffered alone. Then one night, as the grip of despair tightened around me, I found myself sinking into an abyss so deep that it threatened to swallow me whole. It felt like the spirit of darkness itself had claimed me, pulling me under its cloak until death seemed an inevitable conclusion. I felt a presence like a lion circling me for the kill. Shame had become my ruler, and I was cowering with fear. A spirit of darkness overcame me unto death, but I called upon Jesus and He came into my dark room. “Please,” I whispered into the darkness of my room one night, voice barely audible. Yet in that darkness, I found a spark of courage, a sliver of hope that refused to die. “Jesus,” I called out into the silence of my room. A light appeared in my heart, I felt love for the first time and the lion left my world. My voice wavered, a thin whisper barely escaping my lips. I waited in anticipation. The silence was deafening. The oppressive weight of Shame still lingered. But then something changed. A light flickered within me. It started as a tiny spark, so small and faint that I could’ve easily missed it. But then it grew brighter and stronger until it filled every corner of my heart. For the first time in my life, I felt warmth envelop me from within—a kind of love I had never known before. It was soft and tender like a mother’s embrace but also fierce and strong like a father’s protection. The lion retreated into the shadows as this newfound love consumed me. The fear ebbed away as courage took its place. The darkness that had once seemed so oppressive now seemed insignificant in the face of this light. I breathed easier, my chest no longer weighed down by guilt or shame or fear. A peace settled over me—a peace I had only dreamed about but never truly believed was possible. In that moment, I realized that Jesus had come into my dark room and lit up my world. He had given me a taste of unconditional love—a love that saw past my flaws and accepted me as I was. The lion of Shame had left my world, chased away by the light of Love. I was no longer its prey, no longer bound by its rules and expectations. I was free. I was free to be loved.

Chapter 3

A rush of exhilaration surged through me, but it danced with a touch of fear. Years of oppression had ingrained in me a timid demeanor and an incessant fear of reproach. The lion of Shame might have been chased away, but its echoes still haunted my heart. The scars ran deep. The tongue that had once known only how to mumble pleas for mercy now sought to sing praises of love and redemption. The heart that had been steeled against emotion now yearned to overflow with the tenderness it had found in the Redeemer. My parents were mere puppets in a system designed to breed slaves. The abuse, the fear, the oppression—they knew no other way. I looked back at my past, a murky pond filled with the drowned hopes of childhood. I yearned for freedom, for a life colored with kindness and love. Then, I met them. A family who served as a beacon in my storm-tossed life. Their lives were steeped in the love of Christ, and their home was an oasis amidst my desert-like existence. Their world seemed surreal—a parallel universe where children thrived on love and acceptance rather than surviving on fear and apprehension. I watched as the mom tucked her children into bed each night, their laughter ringing clear and true under the comforting weight of her lullabies. I observed the father’s gentle guidance as he taught his sons to build and his daughters to dream—actions unfathomable in my world. There was no hiding under beds or flinching at raised voices here. Instead, there was peace—a tranquility that seeped into my soul each time I stepped into their home. “How?” I found myself asking one day as I sat with them around their dinner table. “How is this possible?” Their mother looked at me, her eyes warm with understanding. “It’s Christ,” she said simply. “His love guides us, and His peace sustains us.” It was then that I realized the truth—the shackles of my past were broken, not by my strength but by His love. In the shadow of the cross, my shame had been replaced with His righteousness. The journey to freedom was far from over. The remnants of fear still lurked in the corners of my heart, and the ghosts of my past continued to whisper their lies. But with each passing day, I found myself growing stronger, learning to speak with confidence and connect emotionally without fear. With the spiritual family as my guide and Christ as my strength, I found hope in a future defined not by oppression but by freedom. A future painted not with fear but with love—a love that had come into my life one dark night and refused to let go.

Chapter 4

Life’s rhythm changed once again. I wed a woman of grace and charm, yet the harmonious melody I had imagined our life together would sing was marred by discordant notes. I felt more like a machine, going through the motions of work and seeking pleasure in the intimacy of our marital bed. The companionship I craved seemed to be slipping through my fingers like grains of sand. Within me echoed an emptiness, a void that mirrored the bleak landscapes of my childhood. A chasm between the man I was and the man I aspired to be. The teachings of my spiritual family echoed in my mind, but they were at odds with the scars etched deep into my psyche. In desperation, I sought solace among fellow Christians. Yet, as I unveiled my struggles, their faces mirrored my own confusion and helplessness. Their words, usually so full of wisdom and encouragement, fell silent when faced with the shadows of my past. My heart waged a war within me—a battle between what was right and what was familiar. How could I free myself from these chains that seemed so deeply ingrained in me? In moments of solitude, anger bubbled up within me—an inferno threatening to consume everything in its path. I found myself lashing out at God, cursing Him for allowing such torment to linger in my life. My soul cried out in agony—why was I unable to change? Why was this cycle of despair so unending? Companionship—that’s all I yearned for. A companionship steeped in love and understanding. But love remained an elusive specter—visible but untouchable—like a mirage shimmering in the desert heat. Opening up to love felt like scaling a towering mountain without any gear or training—it seemed impossible, overwhelming. Yet, somewhere deep within me, nestled beneath layers of pain and despair, flickered a tiny flame of hope. A hope that one day, I would learn to love, to truly live. But for now, I was a man caught in a storm—tossed and turned by the waves of despair and confusion. And as the storm raged on, I held onto that tiny flame of hope, praying for the day when the storm would subside, and the sun would shine once again.

Chapter 5

A revelation unfolded before me. Shame, the monster under my bed, the shadow in my closet, had become the puppet master of my life. It whispered its poisonous tales into my ear, convincing me I was less than nothing. The chains that bound me weren’t forged from steel, but from years of guilt and fear. So I took up a pen, and like a man preparing for war, I made my plan. The list sprawled across pages—every moment of fear, every instant of despair, every slice of shame. Each word etched into the paper was a piece of the invisible armor that I’d carried for so long. I found a counselor who specialized in cases like mine—those with histories of abuse so deeply woven into their existence that it was hard to tell where they ended and the trauma began. I scheduled an appointment, hoping against hope that this could be the beginning of the end of my torment. As I walked into the office, my heart pounded like a war drum in my chest. This was it. This was the battlefield where I would face my demons. Under the bed, in the closet—I had sought refuge in those hidden places as a child. But it wasn’t about physical hiding spots anymore; I had burrowed deep within myself to escape reality. Like a tortoise retreating into its shell, I had vanished inside myself for safety. The world had always been a terrifying place for me—strangers were dangerous predators lurking around corners; family members were threats hidden behind masks of love; work was a battlefield where enemies could strike at any moment. My worldview was skewed—distorted by years of religion that wielded shame as a weapon instead of offering love as a balm. Religion and shame—they were twin specters that haunted my life, turning each day into a waking nightmare. Christ—it was only through Him that freedom seemed possible. He stood as a beacon of hope amid my stormy sea of despair. But how could I reach out to Him when my hands were shackled by the chains of my past? I didn’t have the answers. All I had was a burning desire for change—a desperate yearning for freedom from the bondage of shame. This was my battle, and I was ready to fight.

Chapter 6

Week after week, month after month, year after year, my counselor urged me to write down my good attributes. She would sit across from me in that dimly lit room, her face a study in patience and understanding. Her eyes held a kindness that was almost unbearable. “Come on,” she would coax, a gentle smile playing on her lips. “Just one thing. It doesn’t have to be big. It can be something as simple as…you’re a good listener.” But each time she asked, I found myself shaking my head. The words wouldn’t come. It was as if they were locked behind a door in my heart—a door that shame had sealed shut. That was the problem. The world, it seemed, had sensed my weakness from the start. It had seized upon it like a predator pouncing on its prey. The more I was hurt, the deeper I buried myself within my shell of self-loathing and despair. And then there was Christ—His love a constant offering that I felt too unworthy to accept. The Redeemer was there, arms outstretched in forgiveness and mercy, but I couldn’t reach out to Him. Not when I felt so undeserving of His grace. I forgave others with ease, absolving them of their transgressions against me without a second thought. But when it came to accepting love for myself—well, that was another story. I lived like this for 65 long years—stuck in a cycle of self-hatred and rejection of love. But then something shifted. One day, staring at the blank page in front of me—the page where my counselor had once again asked me to list my good attributes—I realized something. I was tired. Tired of being the world’s punching bag. Tired of allowing others to heap their hatred upon me while I simply took it without protest. And most importantly, I was tired of denying myself love. In that moment, I felt a shift within me. It was as if a door had been unlocked—a door that had been sealed shut for far too long. I picked up my pen, and for the first time in my life, I wrote down something good about myself. It wasn’t much—just three words—but it was a start. “I am worthy.” The change began immediately. The world didn’t suddenly become less scary, but I found myself less willing to be its victim. I was ready to be loved. Ready to love. And most importantly, ready to accept the love of Christ—the Redeemer who had waited patiently for me all these years. And so, at the age of 65, I began to live.

Chapter 7

“Where do I start?” I murmured aloud, alone in the dimly lit room. The pages of the Bible before me seemed to hold the answers but understanding them felt like trying to decipher an ancient language. “Renew my mind…” I whispered, running my fingers over the words. It was a phrase that had been echoing in my mind ever since my counselor suggested it. But how? How does one renew a mind so marred by years of self-loathing? I felt a sudden urge, a need for guidance. I closed my eyes and spoke into the silence. “What does it mean, God? How do I renew my mind?” The response wasn’t audible, but it filled my heart and soul with warmth. “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, and soul.” I blinked back tears. “But how can I love fully without being loved unconditionally by You? Are You love?” The warmth grew stronger, more intense. “Yes.” My heart pounded in my chest as I grappled with this revelation. God was Love? Not just a source of love or an example of love, but Love itself? The idea was overwhelming, intoxicating. “Show me the way,” I pleaded. “I want to know this love.” Suddenly, I was overwhelmed by an insatiable thirst—a thirst for a kind of love that was deeper than any ocean, stronger than any mountain. A love that was pure and unselfish, compassionate and understanding. “Teach me Your ways,” I whispered into the stillness. “I want peace to rule my heart and love to govern my mind.” And so, it began—a journey of self-discovery and self-love that would change not only how I viewed myself but also how I viewed the world around me. Each day became a lesson in love as I sought to understand God’s ways and apply them to my life. The self-loathing that had once consumed me began to fade, replaced by a sense of worthiness that was both humbling and empowering. The world remained the same, filled with both beauty and cruelty, but I was no longer the same. I was stronger, braver, kinder changed from the inside out by the unconditional love of the Lord. And through it all, Christ was there—His arms always open, His love always ready to heal and restore. “I am worthy,” I would remind myself each day. “I am loved.” And for the first time in my life, I truly believed it.

Chapter 8

The scars of my past were fading, not only on my skin but in the deep crevices of my mind. As I bathed in the healing light of Christ, I found myself gazing back at the shadowy figures that had cast long, haunting shadows over my childhood—my parents, my grandparents. They had been ensnared by Lucifer and his cunning masquerade as religion. My heart clenched at the thought of it, at how they had been convinced that harming children was a path to righteousness. It was a bitter pill to swallow—realizing that those who should have nurtured me were the very ones who had sown seeds of pain and self-loathing in my heart. I thought about the harm they’d endured themselves, their spirits battered and bruised. It dawned on me that harm was like a plague, spreading from person to person like a contagion. My mind whirled with questions. Why hadn’t we overcome our enemy? Why hadn’t we studied his deceitful ways? How was it that Lucifer continued to wreak havoc, to shame and destroy lives? The realization struck me like a bolt of lightning—my anger wasn’t meant for those who’d hurt me. No, it was meant for religion, for Lucifer, for the shame that made us weak and vulnerable. “Christ,” I found myself whispering into the quiet room. “Help me understand.” In the silence that followed, I felt a new determination rising within me—a fierce resolve to understand the enemy’s tactics and to arm myself with Christ’s love. But as I sat there in the quiet room, I realized that understanding would not come overnight. It would take time—time to learn, time to grow stronger in my faith. So, I chose patience. Patience with myself as I sought answers, patience with others who were still entangled in Lucifer’s deceitful web. I understood that healing wasn’t a destination, but a journey—a journey towards love, forgiveness, and the strength to face the enemy head-on. And with each passing day, I found myself growing stronger, more resilient. My anger no longer consumed me—it fueled me. It drove me to seek truth, to understand the enemy’s ways and to break free from the chains of shame and self-loathing. And as I embarked on this new journey, Christ was there guiding me, teaching me, loving me. He was my rock in the raging storm, my beacon in the darkest night. I knew then that I was not alone—that I would never be alone. And with Christ by my side, I was invincible.

Chapter 9

God poured into me a steadfast resolve, filling my dreams with vivid visions. In the beginning, shame overwhelmed me, the weight of my past heavy in my chest. But His voice, steady and comforting, guided me toward action. He handed me a seed, so tiny it almost disappeared in the rough lines of my palm. He pointed to a mountain, majestic and daunting. “Cast it into the sea,” He commanded. But I was stubborn, and fear gnawed at the edges of my faith. Then He showed me a vision that turned my blood cold – people falling from the earth into a fiery sea. Their screams echoed in my ears; their faces twisted in agony. The reality of their suffering struck me like a fist to the gut, their cries becoming my own. I had failed them through my inaction. My heart pounding against my ribs, I finally yielded to His command. With a word, I cast the mountain into the sea. A shockwave rippled through the earth as the colossal mass crashed into the waters with an ear-splitting roar. Then God declared war. It wasn’t with grandeur or fanfare but with a simple proclamation: Jesus was coming. Moses was but a mirror image, a reflection of what was to come. God chose me, the least among men, to deliver this message. The reality of it was staggering I was in a war against Lucifer. A war that seemed insurmountable against an enemy as formidable as Satan himself. But God had designed me for this very purpose—to overcome all things through Christ. My life took on new meaning as I accepted this truth. Every day became a battle and every night a respite before another day of conflict. My hands hardened with work and prayer, my voice grew hoarse from declarations of faith and warnings to those who would listen. The war was not one fought with swords and shields but with faith and conviction. I was not a soldier but a herald, chosen by God to stand against the enemy. And as I walked this path, the visions that had once filled me with shame became my guiding light, my compass in the chaos. With each passing day, my resolve only grew stronger. God had chosen me for this war, and I would fight until the end. Join me in overcoming evil and hatred, stand with Christ and Draw your sword of Love.

To be Continued

10 Steps to Love