But I'm Still Here
A 20-Year Journey with Jesus
Today marks 20 years…
since I was baptized
and surrendered my life to Christ.
Sunday, March 27th, 2005, I gave God a yes.
A shaky yes.
An unsure yes.
But a yes nonetheless.
And my visceral reaction is simple but weighty: “Whoa.”
Not just a surprised exhale—but a sacred pause.
A holy gasp at the awe of God.
The weight of His hand—so steady, so faithful—has not only held me but guided me, covered me, and loved me into becoming the woman standing here today.
I celebrate this day with a heart full of reverence.
Gratitude doesn’t seem like a big enough word. I feel the tension of joy and lament, wholeness and the wounds still healing. And somewhere in the swirl of my overachieving, self-examining personality, I heard the familiar inner voice ask,
“Okay, but what have you actually accomplished?”
And then… the enemy took it further.
“You spent the morning crying. In emotional turmoil. Weeping on the phone with your Bishop. You sure you’re proud of this place?”
But then it hit me.
The revelation cracked through the shame like morning light:
I am still here.
I am resilient.
And no devil in hell can steal that truth.
The fact that I can cry.
That I can call on my Bishop.
That I have spiritual covering from him, his wife, and a church family who love me with intention—that is not weakness.
That is resilience.
It’s the fruit of not giving up.
The evidence of a God who never let go.
So let me open my Book of Remembrance—and maybe, just maybe, it’ll stir something in you to open yours too. Let it be a living testimony of what resilience and grace look like when they're kissed by Heaven:
I could have died at the hands of an abuser—but I’m still here.
I could have taken my life during a mental health spiral—but I’m still here.
I could have been sold into sex trafficking—but God rescued me, and I’m still here.
I could have never been born—with a turbulent labour. But I’m still here.
I could have chased validation until my soul crumbled—but I’m still here.
I could have died from a botched abortion attempt—but I’m still here.
I could have been poisoned by someone I trusted—but I’m still here.
I could have been raped—but by God’s grace, I was spared. I’m still here.
I could have been kidnapped without a trace—but I’m still here.
I could have given up when I lost everything—but I’m still here.
I could have been shot in crossfire—but I’m still here.
I could have drowned in depression—but I’m still here.
I could have hardened my heart after church hurt—but I’m still here.
I could have stayed in cycles of sin and shame—but I’m still here.
I could have missed my calling out of fear—but I’m still here.
I could have continued promiscuous patterns and died from an STI— but I’m still here.
I could have stayed entangled in soul ties, mistaking control for love—but I’m still here.
I could have stayed married to the wrong man just to avoid loneliness—but I safely left by God’s mercy, and I’m still here.
I could have settled for counterfeit relationships—but I’m still here.
I could have let rejection define my worth—but I’m still here.
I could have turned myself over to alcohol to numb the pain—but I’m still here.
I could have listened to all my addictions — but I’m still here.
I could have used my body to manipulate instead of heal—but I’m still here.
I could have compromised my calling for clout—but I’m still here.
I could have become addicted to attention instead of rooted in identity—but I’m still here.
I could have been swallowed by comparison—but I’m still here.
I could have let imposter syndrome silence my voice—but I’m still here.
I could have idolized ministry and lost intimacy with Jesus—but I’m still here.
I could have left the church and never looked back—but I’m still here.
I could have mistaken isolation for protection—but I’m still here.
I could have built a platform on performance instead of purity—but I’m still here.
I could have masked my trauma behind titles—but I’m still here.
I could have chased deliverance more than the Deliverer—but I’m still here.
I could have abandoned the assignment because of fear—but I’m still here.
I could have let perfectionism paralyze my purpose—but I’m still here.
I could have ignored the call to holiness—but I’m still here.
I could have lost my mind in spiritual warfare—but I’m still here.
I could have listened to familiar spirits instead of the Holy Spirit—but I’m still here.
I could have self-sabotaged every opportunity—but I’m still here.
I could have kept secrets that were killing me—but I’m still here.
I could have died from chronic stress and autoimmune issues—but I’m still here.
I could have abandoned healing because it hurt too much—but I’m still here.
I could have continued masking as strong instead of getting free—but I’m still here.
I could have let pride keep me from accountability—but I’m still here.
I could have used church as a crutch instead of Christ as a cornerstone—but I’m still here.
I could have become bitter from betrayal—but I’m still here.
I could have stayed silent about the abuse—but I’m still here.
I could have drowned in shame after my mistakes—but I’m still here.
I could have forfeited joy for survival—but I’m still here.
I could have walked away from God when I didn’t feel Him—but I’m still here.
I could have ignored His voice because obedience was uncomfortable—but I’m still here.
I could have shut down emotionally—but I’m still here.
I could have stayed stuck in psychosis, but God saved me— I’m still here.
I could have stopped dreaming and hoping for my future—but I’m still here.
I could have let grief swallow me into a hole—but I’m still here.
I could have ignored the sound and trustworthy prophetic words spoken over me—but I’m still here.
I could have clung to generational curses—but I’m still here.
I could have left the process too early—but I’m still here.
I could have walked through open doors that weren’t God-ordained—but I’m still here.
I could have stayed hidden in the background—but I’m still here.
I could have burned every bridge—but I’m still here.
I could have let the battle of nasty habits win— but I’m still here.
I could have judged others instead of walking in compassion—but I’m still here.
I could have mistaken ministry for identity—but I’m still here.
I could have continued running from inner healing—but I’m still here.
I could have never showed up to counselling sessions— but I’m still here.
I could have never asked for help— but I’m still here.
I could have let the voices in my head become louder than God’s Word— but I’m still here.
I could have let the toxic patterns of my family dictate my path— but I’m still here.
I could have been known by my wounds instead of my worship—but I’m still here.
I could have hardened my heart to protect it—but I’m still here.
I could have walked away after not getting what I prayed for—but I’m still here.
I could have stayed loyal to dysfunction—but I’m still here.
I could have ignored the little girl in me who needed to be held—but I’m still here.
I could have made comfort my god—but I’m still here.
I could have never known love—but I’m surrounded by it now.
And I’m still here.
And so are you.
You are still here.
That means purpose still lives.
The Scripture That Holds This All Together
Lamentations 3:21-24 (ESV):
“But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
‘The Lord is my portion,’ says my soul,
‘therefore I will hope in him.’”
Let’s dig deeper:
“Call to mind” in Hebrew (שׁוּב shuwb) is not just remembering—it’s a returning. A turning back to the truth that anchors us when lies swirl loud.
“Steadfast love” (חֶסֶד chesed) is covenant love—the kind that binds itself to you and doesn’t let go even when you’re faithless.
“Mercies” (רַחֲמִים rachamim) stems from the word for womb—the kind of mercy that nurtures, protects, and births something new, again and again.
“Faithfulness” (אֱמוּנָה emunah) is not passive loyalty—it’s active reliability. It’s the faithfulness that holds you when you’re too weak to hold on.
This passage isn’t just poetic—it’s prophetic.
It testifies that you are not a mistake.
You are a miracle.
FROM THE FATHER’S HEART
“Daughter, I have seen every tear you cried in secret. Not one has fallen to the ground unnoticed.”
I was there in the womb when your fight for breath began.
I was there in every “almost” moment the enemy thought he had you.
I was the hand that snatched you back.
I was the whisper that said, ‘Live.’
I’ve carried you through valleys so dark you forgot what light felt like—
But I was the light. Even when you couldn’t see Me.
You’ve mistaken delays for denial. But I was building you.
You’ve mistaken loneliness for punishment. But I was setting you apart.
You’ve mistaken pruning for rejection. But I was refining your oil.
You thought you were forgotten—but I was writing your name in the palm of My hand.
Every detour had destiny hidden inside.
Every heartbreak carved out more space for Me.
Every “no” was a redirection to My best.
Over these 20 years, I’ve been shaping you into My sanctuary.
Not a platform. Not a performance. A dwelling place for My Spirit.
You wanted safety. I gave you covering.
You longed for love. I gave you My Son.
You asked for peace. I became your portion.
You didn’t just survive—you overcame.
And not once did I take My eyes off you.
I’ve never been ashamed of your pace.
I’ve never been disappointed in your processing.
I’ve never regretted choosing you.
I have never abandoned you.
What you see as mess, I’ve used for ministry.
What you see as weakness, I call wisdom.
What you see as delay, I call divine timing.
Now, watch—because the next 20 years will not look like the former.
Your foundation has been built on fire and faithfulness.
Now comes the fruit.
If we were to tie what I sense God is saying into Scripture, this word carries the essence of Isaiah 43:1-2:
“But now, this is what the Lord says—He who created you, Jacob, He who formed you, Israel: ‘Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned;
the flames will not set you ablaze.’”
Exegetical Insight:
“Created you” – bara (בָּרָא) in Hebrew speaks to divine craftsmanship. You weren’t just made, you were intentionally formed.
“Redeemed you” – ga'al (גָּאַל) is the term used for a kinsman-redeemer. Not just saved, but claimed and restored.
“Summoned by name” – He didn’t call the group. He called you, personally and intimately.
“You are mine” – a declaration of belonging, ownership rooted in love and covenant.
So if you’re asking,
“God, what are You saying to me?”
Here’s the answer:
You made it.
You’re mine.
And I’ve only just begun.
So to the one reading this, wondering if it’s too late if too much damage has been done if the journey has disqualified you:
Don’t you dare give up.
Your “still here” is proof that the story isn’t over.
Your breath is evidence that Heaven is still investing in you.
God isn’t finished with you yet.
Keep walking.
Keep healing.
Keep showing up.
Keep surrendering.
One day, you’ll look back and realize that even your tears were watering the seeds of a breakthrough.
And when that day comes, your own Book of Remembrance will say:
“I’m still here.”
God loves you sister❤️
Love,
Conecia (your sister in Christ)
