The Enemy Can’t Have What’s Already Been Redeemed
Last night I was lying in bed, scrolling, half-asleep, when an old memory popped into my head. Out of nowhere. You know how that happens sometimes? One thought just rolls in and suddenly you’re reliving something you haven’t thought about in forever, a version of yourself you’ve outgrown but still remember too well.
And for a minute, I started to feel that familiar guilt rise up. That quiet voice that says, “Remember when you messed that up? Remember how you handled that wrong?” I almost let myself spiral into it until I caught what was really happening.
The enemy doesn’t have a hold on me anymore, not the way he used to. Jesus already pulled me out of those places. He’s already forgiven me, already restored me. So what’s left for the enemy to do? He can’t touch my present, so he reaches into my past. He digs up old memories and tries to convince me they still matter.
But here’s the thing, they don’t. Those moments don’t define me anymore. They’re not evidence of failure; they’re proof of grace. The enemy tries to bring them up like they’re receipts, but Jesus already cleared the debt.
It hit me, right there in the dark: he can only use what I let him. He can only replay the scenes I haven’t fully handed over to God. So I whispered, almost out loud, “You can’t have me anymore. Not my peace. Not my joy. Not the things God already redeemed.”
It made me think of that verse - “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come; the old has gone, the new is here.” (2 Corinthians 5:17) And I realized maybe healing isn’t about forgetting. Maybe it’s about remembering differently. Seeing those old moments through the lens of mercy instead of shame.
Because when I think back on who I used to be, I don’t cringe the way I used to. I feel thankful. That version of me was just doing her best with what she knew. And even then, God was already working on my behalf — already planning a life where I’d see how far He’d brought me.
Sometimes I think that’s what the enemy hates most: that even our worst memories can turn into worship when we let God rewrite them.
So if you’ve been thinking about your past lately - the things you wish you could change, the people you wish you hadn’t trusted, the choices that still make your stomach twist - maybe this is your reminder. Those memories aren’t meant to haunt you. They’re meant to humble you. To remind you that grace is real, and that redemption doesn’t erase your story; it transforms it.
The enemy can try to remind you of who you were, but Jesus will always remind you of who you’re becoming.
And maybe that’s what freedom looks like, not the absence of old thoughts, but the ability to face them and say, “I’m not her anymore. I’ve been made new.”
So tell me, have you ever felt that tug? The one where you know you’ve healed, but the enemy still tries to pull you back through old doors God already closed? What do you do when that happens?
Lord, thank You for the ways You keep rewriting my story. When the past tries to pull me back, remind me that You’ve already gone before me. Help me remember that what once hurt now holds purpose, that every scar carries Your grace, and that no part of my story is wasted in Your hands. When the enemy whispers reminders of who I was, let Your voice be louder, reminding me of who I am in You. Amen.
