I’ve known for a long time that I am not a Christian. I believe in God, but I do not believe in Jesus. I was raised Lutheran, but didn’t feel that Christianity made much sense to me. I’ve always had a strong sense of faith and every time I’ve gone through a depressive period in my life that faith only grows. I feel a sense of peace knowing that there is something out there that I can talk to when I feel like life just gets to be too much. Tonight happened to be one of those moments. I laid in bed, contemplating everything. How was I going to pay for my psychiatrist visit on Friday with no insurance and no money in my bank account? How was I going to pay for food this week when my assistance applications are still pending? The job search is still going but nothing is happening. I am at a stand still. Tonight I decided to pray and even though I don’t cry very easily, I started crying knowing how destitute I had become. I have a roof over my head, I have some food in the cupboard, so I am better off than some, but to me I feel like I am at the worst possible place. I prayed to God, telling him, “I don’t know what to do.” My cat was sitting on my chest, purring as I cried. I asked over and over and imagined my grandma watching over me. Then it hit me. I have books. I have books to sell. The semester is over with as of today, I can sell all of my school books and all of the books I don’t want on eBay or Amazon and get money that way. I rummaged through all of my things pulling out my clarinet music books, cookbooks I don’t use, old textbooks, anything. I managed to accumulate about 10 books. It’s not much but it is something. It’s what I needed in the moment. A little bit of hope. A little lift from God.
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