Faith in the Valley of Shadows

More about Faith in the Valley of Shadows

I was told once that man is born in sin. That from my first breath, I was stained, marked, unworthy. And so, I have lived beneath that weight, every misstep proof of a truth I never asked for. A soul condemned before it had the chance to be anything else.

But is that truly what I am? A product of my failures? A vessel for the mistakes that came before me?

The Devilish Figure tells me yes. It walks with me, its voice a shadow that curls around my thoughts, soft and insidious. It does not shout. It does not command. It only whispers what I have feared in the quiet of my own mind.

"You were never meant for more."

How easy it would be to believe that. To let the skeletons take my hands, to step into the embrace of the past and let it close around me. To accept that I am nothing but a sum of my sins, a road that leads only to dust.

But something inside me resists. A voice, faint but unyielding, rising from the deepest part of me.

"Then why do I still hunger?"

Why do I still reach for something beyond this road? Why does the weight of my guilt not crush me, but push me forward? If I were only my sins, if I were meant to be lost, then why does the idea of hope refuse to die in me?

The Devilish Figure laughs, though there is no joy in it. It calls me foolish. Blind. A man clinging to a broken rope over an abyss that has already claimed him.

"There is no salvation, only acceptance. You will always return to me."
Maybe. Maybe I will stumble again. Maybe I will falter, maybe I will fall. But if I am cursed to walk, then I will walk forward. If I must carry this weight, then I will carry it toward something greater than my own sorrow.

I was born into sin. But I was also born with the fire to rise from it.

The skeletons hesitate. Some pull back. Some still reach for me. They are the echoes of every failure, every moment I let myself believe I was unworthy of anything else. But they are not me. Not anymore.

The Devilish Figure watches, its form flickering, no longer so certain. It does not stop me. It cannot. Because for the first time, I see the truth.
I am not the sum of my sins. I am the battle against them.
And as long as I walk, the road will never belong to the darkness alone.

"Is it the weight of our sins that binds us, or the belief that we can never be free of them? Perhaps it's the latter. Redemption doesn’t require perfection—just the willingness to release ourselves from the chains we’ve created. The true burden isn’t the sin, but the belief we’re trapped by it. What if freedom lies not in erasing mistakes, but in accepting them as part of our journey? In that acceptance, maybe we find the freedom we long for."