A dear friend
told me something today that as a Christian I know, but as a fallible human
being, I have difficulty acknowledging:
I am worthy.
I am loved. I am forgiven.
Even so, as I
write those words, it makes me cry to write them, to see them, to accept them.
I am worthy.
I am loved. I am forgiven.
Why? Why is
it so hard for me to believe these few simple phrases? When I was in my 20s, it was so easily
believed. I lived every day feeling all of those things. I spent a great deal of my time telling other
people that they should feel that too!
Now, as I near 40, the concept is as foreign to me as diving out of an
airplane at 70,000 feet, with only a nylon tether, piece of cloth and God to
keep me alive.
I am worthy.
I am loved. I am forgiven.
Really? Am I?
I wonder where, in my world of wife, mother and daughter, I somehow lost
me. More importantly, somehow, while I
continued to worship Him, I forgot that the Lord has always had my back. He honored my requests for forgiveness. He loved me when no one else did (or at least
when I felt as no one did.) And he forgave me when my sins seemed so
unforgivable.
I am worthy.
I am loved. I am forgiven.
...................
Even as I
wrote this yesterday, it distressed me so much that I had to step away from it
and couldn’t write anymore. I had to
separate myself from the “good news”.
Does that even make sense? I mean
really! If Ed McMahon had come to my
house and said, “You just won 5 million dollars in the Publisher’s
Clearinghouse Sweepstakes!” would I just close the door in his face and step
back? Um. Duuuhhhhh. No.
Yet yesterday it stressed me so that I literally
had a weepy meltdown in the middle of my office. Then I felt better. Then I went and got a pedicure. Because I don’t do that. But yesterday I did. Because something as simple as having my nails
painted by someone who isn’t grossed out by feet is not something I have
allowed myself over the years. But
yesterday I did! (And they look
maaahhhvallous!)
Funny-
reading back over all of this ramble, I see that I have no real end in
sight. There’s no real purpose to my
writing this time- or as they teach our children, no A-B-C. (Beginning, middle,
end.. or.. whatever).
Or was there
purpose? I’ll be forty in two
months. My writing may not have the perfect opening paragraph and there may be no bridge from the main purpose to the closing paragraph, but for the first time in a very
long time, I am reminded-
I am worthy.
I am loved. I am forgiven.
Thank you
P.H., my friend. Your words were
invaluable.
