The God Who Wouldn’t Let Me Go

The Lord is my shepherd, and He left the ninety-nine to chase me.

He found me hiding. Not in the way lost sheep stumble behind rocks, bleating for rescue, but in the way a wounded animal buries itself in the dirt, convinced it is better off unseen. I hid in my own silence, in my pain, in my fear of being known too deeply.

I whispered His name, gripping my own fingers because I didn’t know how to reach for Him. "The Lord is my shepherd." I repeated it like a spell, like something that could bring Him back to me. But the truth? He had never left. I was the one who walked away.

And when He found me, I ran again.

Not because I didn’t want Him. But because I was afraid of what He would say when He saw me up close.

I thought He would ask why I let myself break like this.

I thought He would point at my wounds and ask why I didn’t listen sooner.

I thought He would shake His head, tired of chasing, ready to let me go.

But He didn’t.

He just ran after me again.

Over and over.

Through the thickest parts of my wilderness, through the nights where I sobbed into my hands, through the moments when I swore I didn’t need Him—He never stopped.

I fought Him.

Not with my fists, but with my silence.

I refused to pray.

I refused to be soft.

I refused to let myself be held.

Because I had convinced myself that love—real, unshakable love—was something I had to earn.

And I knew I didn’t deserve it.

But God does not love the way people do.

He does not measure my worth by my perfection.

He does not love me more when I get it right, or less when I fail.

His love is not performance-based.

It is not conditional.

It is not a game where I have to prove myself worthy of being chosen.

He chose me before I knew how to breathe.

He chose me before I knew what it meant to run.

And even when I tried to disqualify myself, even when I told Him I wasn’t worth the effort, He just smiled.

Because He had already decided I was His.

No mistakes could rewrite that.

No sins could undo it.

No distance could make Him change His mind.

And when I finally broke, when I finally stopped running, when I collapsed from exhaustion and whispered, "I don’t know how to come back,"

He whispered back, You were never gone.

Because He never let go.

He never left me in the wilderness.

I only thought He did because I was too busy running to feel Him beside me.

But now, now I see it.

He was there in the moments I thought I was alone.

He was there in the breath that filled my lungs, even when I didn’t want to wake up.

He was there in the quiet, in the waiting, in the stillness I thought was abandonment but was really mercy.

He is still here now.

And I finally understand what it means when they say grace is undeserved.

Because I did nothing to earn it.

I did everything to push it away.

And still, He loves me.

Still, He calls me home.

Still, He whispers my name, not with disappointment, but with the kind of tenderness that breaks you apart in the best way.

And I fall to my knees, tears streaking down my face, because I know now—

I was never too far gone.

I was never too broken.

I was never too much or not enough.

I was always, always His.

And I always will be.

Love,
Neta.