(I love writing for She Reads Truth, #SheSharesTruth. The writing prompts challenge me to
think about unique caveats of this life journey–drawing me to dwell on His faithfulness–situations and moments that may have otherwise gone unnoticed. Enjoy!)
For so long I let him name me.
Lower case he. Not upper case He.
Reminds me of that song. “Begin Again” by Taylor Swift. Do you know it?
He didn’t like it when I wore high heels…
He always said he didn’t get this song…
I think it’s strange that you think I’m funny ’cause he never did…
I saw myself so vividly in that song.
Except mine went a little more like this…
He said I wasn’t observant enough…
He wished I liked sports more…
He said I asked too many questions…
He said he wanted a girl that made his whole world come to a stop, and it wasn’t me…
He didn’t care enough to try anymore…
Bottom line: I believed the lie that I wasn’t good enough, that I was a failure.
The words cut somewhere deep, deep down, and for so long I let them define me.
Those words, they were bigger than my God. I let them be.
But then there was this.
“As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today.” Genesis 50:20
Yes, there it was.
There was seeing a God who was powerful enough to make evil the slave of His grace.
More powerful than those words, than that pain.
There was immersing my mind so deep in Scripture, it was too drenched in the Truth to believe the lies. There was seeing the Truth for what it was. The Truth. The Truth that destroys the lies, tearing up its roots and burning its words.
There was meditating on that Truth.
Not books, not uncontrolled thoughts, not my interpretation, but Scripture. Raw Scripture. Letting the very breath of God breathe life into my weary bones.
There was reading Genesis, journaling, slowly, methodically, with tears in my eyes, witnessing the full scope of God’s character. Infinite, beautiful, unsurpassed love and beauty of God, painted against the backdrop of His holiness and wrath.
There was His sovereignty. The hand that holds, comforts, controls, drives, guides, and loves in every moment, every detail.
There was seeing my Savior. Him. Beautiful and pure and perfect.
There was seeing the cross and the grace. Undeserved, merciful. And then choosing to bestow that same grace and forgiveness on the boy that spoke those words.
And my God became bigger than those words.
And I saw a God who called me His own.
His child. His love.
I saw a God who chose me before the foundations of the earth. A God who knows the very number of hairs on my head; who planned my life before the beginning of time and is chiseling away. Refining. Transforming. Molding.
I saw a Savior who lived a perfect, sinless life, and demonstrated a love I have never known.
And bore the wrath I should have born.
A God who imputed me with His Son’s righteousness and sees me as He sees His Son.
Perfect. Despite my wretched sin.
Not defined by the pain of those words or that boy’s opinions or his sin or my sin.
His clay pot. His work of art.
Daughter. Daughter of the King.
Names that bring life and joy and hope and healing.
The only names that matter.