When I was little, I didn’t really know who Jesus was.
I saw His name in picture books, on church signs, and sometimes on bracelets people wore.
But to me, He was just someone in stories — like a superhero in the clouds.
Then life started to happen.
I didn’t understand why people yelled.
Why friends changed.
Why the people I loved didn’t always stay.
I kept quiet most of the time.
Smiled when I had to.
But sometimes, late at night, I would stare at the ceiling and wonder…
“Is anyone up there listening?”
As I got older, the questions got heavier.
Why is there pain?
Why do I feel empty even when everything looks fine?
I tried to fill the silence with distractions — games, noise, people, anything.
But nothing filled the space inside me.
Until one day, I broke.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just… quietly. Like a small paper tear.
And that night, without knowing the perfect words,
I whispered:
“Jesus, I don’t know You. But I need You.”
It wasn’t fancy.
But it was real.
Since then, it hasn’t been perfect.
I still struggle. I still cry. I still get confused.
But now I don’t walk alone.
Because I finally turned to the One who was waiting the whole time —
not with judgment,
but with open arms.
And the boy I was…
is finally growing into who God made me to be.
