I caught myself tonight saying "almost a year."

A year?

I told the story of how I'd totaled my car and yelled expletives at God. How I'd hit February of 2010 and how I confessed while sitting on a green shag carpet that I'd lost my faith in Jesus. I told of my best friend faithfully listening to my doubts and questions, reading through the Bible with me, fasting for 40 days with me.

I told the story of a book handed to me by my pastor. I told of listening to this sermon so many times in a week that I nearly had parts of it memorized. Of buying a ticket to Fort Worth on a whim and no prayer. Rediscovering the richness of a friendship I had thought was hopelessly broken.

I told of hitting walls and crying on the back stairs when I opened a card from my Mom. I told of the week I sold nearly everything I owned, of packing my small car, of moving here with no plan or certainty.

A year?

I told of sitting in the second row of my new church in a foreign city and understanding for the first time what Paul meant when he talked about the eyes of his heart being opened. The eyes of my heart fluttered open as the teacher taught through the first chapter of Genesis. The book of beginnings.

I was beginning. He was beginning me. Again.

What mercy!

I told of provision every step of the way. Times where mere pennies were in my bank account and He sustained. Times where the only thing certain was Him and where for the first time in my life I was okay with that. I said that around every turn He surprised me. He sustained me. He chose me. He wasn't just doing or being good to me, He in the deepest essence of his character was good.