There is something incredibly freeing about being forgiven. Not excused. Not overlooked. Not swept under the rug. Forgiven. The kind of forgiveness that reaches into the deepest corners of your heart, gathers up every mistake, every regret, every poor choice, every shameful memory, and washes them away completely.

There are seasons when God feels close enough to hear your thoughts before you finish them. And then there are seasons when you’re praying like you’re leaving a voicemail. You know the kind. You pray. You wait. You pray again, just in case the first one didn’t go through. You start wondering if heaven has you on Do Not Disturb. It feels quiet.