The Invisible Thread

I was 15 years old when I first realized I was different. Not the difference that makes you popular in high school, but the difference that makes you feel like an alien in your own skin. I was Jamie, a boy on the outside, but on the inside, Sarah screaming to get out.

My parents were the pillars of our small town church. Dad led the men’s ministry, Mom taught Sunday school. And I was their only child who lived adrift in a sea of ​​confusion and shame.

When I was 17, Dad got sick. He had cancer. It was like watching a mountain collapse. He tried so hard, but two years later, he was gone. I stood numb at his funeral. I was wearing the suit he had bought me for my high school graduation. The suit felt like a lie.

Life went on, as it does. I went to college, joined Christian fellowships, and dated girls I couldn’t love. All the while, Sarah was always whispering in my ear.

On a rainy Saturday, I went to a used bookstore. Behind a pile of dusty theology books, i found a small music section. A CD cover caught my eye — “Chrysalis” by The Prodigal Daughters. The cover image was simple: a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.

I bought it immediately. That night, alone in my dorm room, I listened. The first song hit me like a tidal wave:

“Hidden, not invisible

Silent, but screaming inside

God sees the real me

Even when I try to hide”

I played that album over and over for weeks. It became my secret lifeline, a reminder that maybe, just maybe, God loves me completely — even the parts I was afraid to show the world.

Years went by. I graduated, got a job, and lived a life that looked good on paper. But Sarah was always there, leading the way. The album stayed with me, a constant companion on dark nights and moments of doubt.

It was an ordinary Tuesday when everything changed. I was 36 years old, sitting in my car in the church parking lot, that familiar CD playing softly. The final track began, a song I had heard thousands of times before:

"Step into the light

Shedding your old skin

God's love is boundless

May your journey begin"

Something broke inside me. Or maybe it finally came together. I cried, I prayed, I finally said these words out loud: "I am Sarah."

The journey from then to now has not been easy. I lost friends, and my church family struggled. But I found a new community that embraces all of God's children. I found a therapist who helped me cope with my transformation. And I found myself - the self that God always knew.

That album, "Chrysalis," still sits on my shelf. It's scratched and worn now, but I can't bring myself to replace it. It's a reminder of the long journey, the invisible thread that led me home to myself.

Sometimes, when doubts come to mind, I play that first song again. And I remember - I was never truly invisible. God saw me, my whole self, from the very beginning. And in His eyes, I was always Sarah.