GOD HAS CALLED ME TO MAKE A CHOICE

Art had become the centre of my life, my passion. And yet I was going round in circles ...   

The sudden death of a friend got me thinking.   

When I reread the Gospels, I discovered that Christ was the man I was really looking for. Kind and respectful, gentle yet firm, Jesus Christ knew how to respond to everyone, or keep silent. He refused to be influenced by anyone, including his friends and disciples. I found myself admiring and loving him. I wished I'd known him when he was on earth, walked with him, talked to him, listened to him...

One day, in prayer, I spoke to him and felt the tangible presence of GOD in my flat.

Little by little, I opened up to him. I was honest with GOD: I told him about my frustrations and everything that was preventing me from believing in him. He opened his arms to me. He called me to make a choice, Deuteronomy 30:19, to belong to him, to become his disciple John 21:22. I said yes.

Starting my new life was difficult: there was a lot of damage to repair. One by one, the Lord pinpointed all my bad choices. I confessed my past faults and put an end to my love affairs.

I'm now married, and when I was 43 the Lord gave us a beautiful boy.

What was the point of a lifetime of selfish, unsatisfying artistic creation? 

I finally realised that I had missed the source of true happiness. 

Painting is still my favourite activity, but it has taken second place to my relationship with GOD.

Marjorie (Source: La bonne semence 2014)

FINDING MY IDENTITY

From darkness to light!   

"I am a woman raised up by grace and a daughter of the living God, known, loved and called".

1Peter 2:9 - "You, on the other hand, are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may proclaim the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his marvellous light."

What is my identity? Moroccan? Sahrawi? French?  

For years, I asked myself this question without finding a clear answer.  

I was born in Morocco, into a Sahrawi family involved in the fight for the independence of Western Sahara. When I was five, I left Morocco for France. 

It was in France that my childhood was marked by political effervescence: regular meetings at home, visits from journalists, ambassadors, influential figures... We were under surveillance. When the King of Morocco visited France, the police even searched our family home.

Very early on, I defined myself by my Saharan origins. Belonging to a large tribe gave me a strong sense of heritage, a place, a name.  

As a child, I visited the Sahrawi refugee camps in Algeria to try and better understand my people, my history and my roots. But as I grew up, everything became more confused.  

As an adult, I travelled to Morocco three times. Despite the geographical birth link, I never felt at home there. No ties. No recognition.  

I lived in France, a country that had taken me in as a political refugee, educated and naturalised me, tolerated me but never fully accepted me. Integrated, yes. Loved, no. In the administration, at school, in the world of work: I remained a 'foreigner'.

So who was I really? 

An uprooted Sahrawi? 

A Moroccan passing through? 

A rootless Frenchwoman? 

I was living between different allegiances, without ever finding my own.

An unexpected encounter 

One night, at the age of forty, assailed by a dark atmosphere that had lasted too long, I had a dream.  

I saw above my eyes a man of indescribable beauty, seated on a throne, calm and young, gentle and full of authority. To his left stood a huge being in a white robe, perhaps an angel? 

Both stared at me, but it was the man sitting on the throne who caught my attention most of all. I was puzzled and confused. The throne, like the being to its left, bowed down to bring itself within my reach. The man on the throne smiled at me. Then I woke up.

I was deeply disturbed by this dream. I knew it wasn't just an image. It was real! 

Who was it? It was God, I was told. But... it wasn't the God I'd learned to call.  

And slowly the truth dawned on me: the man I had seen was Jesus! Not a moral guide, not a prophet, but the Son of the living God! The One I had been praying to in secret without knowing Him had appeared to me. He wasn't far away. He was alive, powerful, personal! And He was calling me.

A new identity - Isaiah 43:1 

It had begun to shake up, not just my beliefs, but my whole identity. What I had always been looking for - that peace, that belonging, that spiritual DNA - I found in Him, in Jesus Christ! Looking back, I can see that His hand had carried me from the beginning. He had protected me, guided me, loved me, even when I didn't yet know His name. And when the time came, He revealed Himself. Isaiah 49:16.

A new creature 

Since then, I am no longer defined by a nation or a heritage.  I am a woman raised up by grace and a daughter of the living God, known, loved, called, Galatians 4:7.  I am a Christian and a follower of Jesus.  My identity is in Christ - and in him alone.  He is more than anything else: He is MY LORD AND MY GOD.  John14:6: "I am the Way, the Truth and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through me.

Kroura