My name is had...

I heard this recently on Beth Moore’s “When godly people do ungodly things” and it struck a cord and seems so true to me right now…

 

 “My name is Had. You may know me, but you may not know my new name. You may have no idea what I’ve been through because I do mu best to look the same. I am scared to death of you. I used to be just like you. I once held my head up high without propping it on my hymnal.

 I was well respected back then, and I even respected myself. I was wholeheartedly devoted to God, and if the truth be known, sometimes I was the slightest bit proud of my devotion. Then I’d repent…because I knew pride was wrong. I didn’t want to be wrong. Not ever.

 

People looked up to me. And life looked good from up there. I felt good about who I was. That was before I was Had. Strangely, I no longer remember my old name. I just remember I liked it. I liked who I was. I wish I could go back. I wish I’d just wake up. But I fear I’m wide awake. I have had a nightmare. And that nightmare was me. Had.

 

If I could really talk to you and you could really listen, I’d tell you I have no idea how all his happened. Honestly, I was just like you. I didn’t plan to be Had. One day I hadn’t, and the next day I had.

 

Oh, I know now where I went wrong. I have rewound the nightmare a thousand times, stopping it right a the point where I departed the trail of good sense. The way ahead didn’t look wrong. It just looked different. Strange, he didn’t look like the devil in the original scene. But every time I replayed it, he dropped another piece of the masquerade. When he finally took off his mask, he was laughing at me. Nothing seems funny anymore. I will never laugh again as long as he is laughing.

 

If only I could go back. I would see it this time! I would walk around the trap camouflaged by the brush, and I would not be Had. I would be Proud. I thought I was Good. Not Proud. But I don’t know anymore.

 

Would you believe I never heard the trap shut? Too many voices were shouting in my head. I just knew I got stuck somewhere unfamiliar, and soon I didn’t like the scenery anymore. I wanted to go home. My ankle didn’t even hurt at first. Not until the infection set in. Then I thought I would die.

 

I lay like a whimpering doe while the world howled in the darkness. I got scared. I pulled the brush over me and hid. Then I felt like I couldn’t breath. I had to get out of there or I was sure it would kill me. I didn’t belong there. I refused to die there.

 

I pulled and pulled at the trap, but the foothold wouldn’t budge. The blood gushed. I had no way out. I screamed for God. I told him where I was and the shape I was in. He came for me.

The infection is gone. He put something on it and cleaned it up instantly. As He inspected my shattered ankle, I kept waiting for Him to say, “You deserved this you know. You have been Had.” Because I did and I have. He hasn’t said it yet. I don’t know whether He will or not. I don’t know how much I trust Him yet. I’ve never known Him from this side. My leg still hurts. God says it will heal with time. But I fear I will always walk with a limp.

You see, I wrestled with the devil and he gave me a new name. Had.