Despite growing up in a Christian household and attending church with my parents as a child, the truth about Christ, God, and the Holy Spirit didn't begin to make sense until I turned thirty-nine.

Up until that time, Christianity was a religion to me. God lived in heaven and stared down on a sin-filled me with disappointment and sadness, perhaps even anger tempered only by His love.

The recent loss of my father the previous year, on the fifth of February 2018, rocked me. As I did with my mother's passing almost eleven years earlier, on the fifteenth of September 2007, I clung to the strength God gave me but bottled up my emotions. There was no time to mourn, admit my hurt, or deal with the loss.

The unexpected death of my father left me with a business to run, no money, and mounting debt. By 2019, in over my head with no way out, economic surges, losses, theft, overheads, and never-ending payments left me with R49 in the bank and no hope of continuing.

On the fifteenth of May 2019, all alone and with the weight of the world on my shoulders, my strength gave way under the pressure of having to pay wages, rent, electricity, buying stock, and having no money to do any of it.

Just after four in the afternoon, I paced from my room to the kitchen like a caged animal. Pouring out my hurt, guilt, self-directed anger, hopelessness, and loss to my Heavenly Father in prayer. Something gave way in me, and I broke. Sobbing, pleading, and praying, I realized I had failed. There were no open doors, there was no path forward, and no one was there to help me.

Darkness pressed in on all sides. What was the point of my life? Why was I alive? What difference would it make to the world if I died? No one cared about me; if they did, I wouldn't be alone. If my father still lived, he would have made it right and would not have run out of plans. With these things milling through my mind, I did something I had never done before.

I gave up.

Even in the darkest place I had ever been at the bleakest hour I've ever known, ending myself wasn't an option. Somewhere in the back of my mind, some part of me hoped my blood pressure would spike and take me from this world. But something in me rebelled against the thought. However, it would be years before I understood that "something" was the Holy Spirit.

Since childhood, I've always recognized that the intrusive thoughts, ideas, comments, and notions were evil and thus not of God. Those came from the devil manipulating and plotting against me, insidiously preying on my fears, insecurities, and weaknesses. Even when it sounded like my thoughts, something about them didn't seem right, although I often ignored that warning at my peril.

Only recently did I realize that I'd heard the Holy Spirit all my life. It sounded so much like the voice in my head and seemed so natural that I always assumed these thoughts were mine. They came from the same "something" that warned me against those "intrusive thoughts." Just like it warned me when speaking to people who pretend to be of God, but something about them seemed amiss.

From the beginning, the Holy Spirit told me things I should not have known, but the devil kept me from recognizing the significance of that voice when I divined truths that seemed like logical assumptions but were much more.

It stopped me from understanding the implications when random memories of conversation led me to realize things that kept me from harm or from situations where I didn't belong. God spoke to me in many ways, and I didn't recognize Him.

Until the night that I prayed to hear God more clearly and recognize His voice so I would not be misled; the next day, a sermon led me to receive clarity.

Finally, I understood how often the Holy Spirit had directed me from misfortune and evil, and it stunned me.

But long before that day, I paced the floor for hours on that particular night in May. Caught amidst the most powerful storm of my life until I could not withstand it. Broken. Destroyed. Left with no recourse, I had no idea how to handle my feelings or the situation.

Strength greater than my own rose in me and kept me upright when I wanted to lie down and never wake again. Ungraciously, I fought the Holy Spirit's fortification because the last thing I wanted was the strength to continue.

I had had enough.

What was the point of me going on, struggling, fighting, and hurting?

The harder I fought, the stronger the Holy Spirit manifested within me until I exhausted myself and, too tired to resist, walked with weary steps because He would allow me to sit down.

During all of this, worship music blasted through my speakers. To this day, I cannot tell you which songs played, but as I struggled with the Holy Spirit and lost, thoughts entered my mind.

Messages from God.

I know the thoughts I have for you, plans not to harm you but to give you hope and a future.

My thoughts are not your thoughts. My plans are not your plans. The plans I have for you are far greater than the plans you have for yourself. My thoughts of you outnumber the sands of the sea.

No weapon formed against you shall prosper. They will be formed, but they shall not prosper. No plague shall enter your home.

I will make a way where there is no way. I will make rivers in the desert. I am God. I am in control. My will and not your will. Humble yourself before me, and I shall answer your prayers.

My timing is perfect.

My strength is made perfect in weakness. For I am the Lord your God, He who is and was and will come again.

The Holy Spirit gave me so many of God's assurances that I cannot recall them all, but I thought I was just soothing myself with bible verses from memory. Although, at some level, I realized the truth. Then, as the storm calmed, I became more aware that the words originated inside me but outside my soul—if that makes any sense.

For I am the Lord your God. I am a jealous God. I am God, and I alone am God. There are no other gods before me. You are the apple of My eye. You are My masterpiece. You were fearfully and wonderfully made.

God loves you with a love that is unending and all-encompassing. Love keeps no tally of evil. It keeps no track of sin. Repent, and you shall be forgiven. You are not alone, for I am with You.

Do not be concerned, I, the Lord, will look after you and protect you with my mighty right hand. Do not worry about what you shall eat or drink or wear. Do I not provide for the sparrow in the field? Are you not worth more than them?

These thoughts looped through my head, burning into my soul, but it wasn't until I grew quiet before Him that I cried when I thought I had no more tears. But this time, not out of anger, shame, hopelessness, or fear.

I asked forgiveness for doubting Him, rebelling against Him, being angry at Him, and believing the devil's lies. Admitting that I took my eyes off Him and had not trusted Him. All the while, words spilt forth from my mouth (under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, I now realize).

Despite my icy bare feet and cold body, a heat filled my chest that words cannot describe. More than that, a warmth rested across my shoulders, as if someone's arm had gently settled there that was much taller than I.

Sometime near midnight, I crawled into bed, exhausted physically and mentally but at peace.

All of that night, despite it being unseasonably cold for fall, my back seemed heated, as it did in the days my mother used to share a bed with me when I was young. As if someone lay beside me, just touching the centre of my back and giving me space but also letting me know I wasn't alone.

I am not someone who can quote scripture down to the verse. If I were to search for all of these, there would be a chapter of references and as I mentioned. This is just me sharing my story and faith.