Handy Man

"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you; Before you were born I sanctified you; I ordained you a prophet to the nations." Jeremiah 1:5, NKJV


Jeremiah's response to this calling was, like many of the prophets to whom God's word came, was something along the lines of  "OH NO NOT ME." Jerry's excuse is, "I am but a boy! I cannot speak." Moses' was "Who am I to bring the people out of Egypt?" Jonah just up and ran without so much as an argument.
I am not good enough to carry Your message, God.
I am not good enough.
Not good enough.

We point our flaws out to God as a reason why we do not fully devote ourselves to Him. "I will give You my soul once I have fixed it, God. It's not worthy of You yet."

I hesitated before going to church tonight because I was feeling low, dirty, remembering all of my stains from past encounters, long gone sins. I didn't feel like my worship was worthy of the Lord Most High, that I would insult Him and profane the holy gathering by my mere presence among them. I didn't even want to approach my God in the state of filth in which I considered myself.

My soul wasn't good enough.

But God knew that. Before he formed me in the womb, He knew the dispositions of my soul and the inclinations of my temperament. He already knew that I had a tendency to break and sink into the mires of depression, self-hatred and angst. And He wants me anyway.

We are humans. We're not supposed to be able to fix our own souls. We can't shine ourselves up before we hand ourselves over to God. It doesn't work like that. You only give God the best when it comes to livestock sacrifice. When it comes to my heart and soul, God doesn't just want the nice pretty parts. He wants the whole enchilada, no matter how broken it is.

And guess what? He'll fix it for me.

He is the ultimate handy man.

I am good enough for God.
Because God made me the way I am.

Glacier

I had a photoshoot todaaaaaay!
It was wonderful.
Actually I've had four this month, but I'll post about those later. This one's the most exciting.
 SO HERE YA GO.

Narciso Arguelles took the photos, and Amanda McKinney did my makeup. They're both wonderful. :3

Hopey you likeys!

Just Another

Sometimes I feel  like just another.
Another pretty face.
Another warm smile.
Another loud voice.
Another half-broken girl, striving to be good enough for someone.

Anyone.

Why?

Why do I need to be good enough for anyone besides me?
Why can't I live with myself unless someone else can live with me?
And why does no one want to?

Is something wrong with me?

Can I fix it?

Or am I just permanently obnoxious, insensitive, ungrateful, selfish, passive-aggressive, and far too prideful or underconfident for anyone to ever look twice at me?

And why do I care who looks twice at me?

Porcelain Face

This is the first section of a devotional short story I'm working on. This is unedited, so it might be a little rough. See what you think.
~~

Once, not long ago, the God of ages created a girl, with a beautiful porcelain face. She trusted Him and never turned her flawless gaze from her Creator. He fed her with Scripture, and strengthened her with His unwavering Love. As she began to learn to walk, the Lord took tiny steps away from her, and she matched His steps, following Him devotedly. But her steps were shaky, and each one made her stronger as she chased her God.

Until one day, as she lifted her foot to follow her Creator's footsteps, the Accuser slithered under her, and when she set down her foot, he snatched her ankle and dragged her from her feet, his searing grip staining her perfect skin with ugly, painful burns. As she fell, she cried out for her Lord to save her, but He simply watched her precious face as it struck the concrete and was dragged away.

"Let me go!" she pleaded, realizing with horror that the impact of her fall had weakened the porcelain of which she was made, and along her jawline there slid a long hairline fracture.

The Accuser laughed at her. "Do you really wish for me to release you? You have been flawed, you've ruined your perfect face! Your God will not want you now!"

She gritted her teeth against the pain of his hand on her skin. "Let me go!" she repeated squirming in his grasp.

"Very well." And he dropped her, vanishing as quickly as he had appeared, leaving her alone, crumpled on the dirty pavement. As she pulled herself up, her finger traced the fracture on her jaw. "I am broken," she whimpered. "That creature is right, my God will never accept me in this state. I must find someone who can make me whole again, so that I may once again appear before my Creator." So, with shaking steps, the girl set off down the dull sidewalk, in search of someone who could fix her.

The Wanderer

God is just so patient with me.
All the time.
It's a good thing, too, because I am notorious for wandering in search of affirmation.

He lets me go as I please.
He endures my wretched screaming and two-year-old temper tantrums when I can't find the satisfaction I seek in the earthly things around me.
Then, when I turn back to Him for the thousandth time and say, "Oh, you have what I'm looking for, huh? I'm sorry I wandered again..." He scoops me into His arms and holds me and kisses me and reminds me, for the thousandth time, "You are my precious Child, the Beloved, and I delight in you."

Then, the next day when I've wandered again and I scream up at Him in frustration, "Remind me who I am!" He screams back, "You are MY CHILD, and I LOVE YOU!"

And the day after that when I've gone and run away again searching for something I can hold in my hands that will tell me that I am valuable, something that can wrap its arms around me and tell me that I'm worth something, and I lash out at the things around me for not having what I want, God watches quietly,  and gently places some little reminder in my life that says, "Hey. You're my baby girl, and I'm proud of you."
And I stop in my tracks, let out a breath and smile, shaking my head. "I ran away again, didn't I?"
"It's all right, my Child. You're back now, and I love you."
"I love you, too."

And every time I turn back to God and find that He's still standing right there, very patiently waiting for me to return and allow Him to love me again, I'm struck by just how patient the Lord must be to endure the constant abuse of my continual abandonment. I mean, obviously He's powerful enough that He could keep me to Himself if He wanted to. But He doesn't. He simply allows me to wander off on the repetitive and fruitless attempts to find something in the material world that will affirm my worth. He never gets frustrated with me and yells at me, "Don't you get it?!" He never rolls his eyes or thinks I'm stupid. He just sighs and waits patiently, receiving me back into His arms with love and affirmation the same on the tenth time as on the millionth time.

My God has so much patience with me.

Maybe eventually I'll learn how not to let my eyes wander.
That'll be the day, won't it?

Sometimes

Sometimes I want to scream obscenities at the top of my lungs at every single person who walks past me.
Sometimes I want to rip my face off and throw it through a paper shredder,

AND SEE HOW MANY OF YOU LIKE ME THEN.
See how many of my 'friends' really are lying.
How many are just waiting around for me to fall for them.

Do you REALIZE how DEGRADING that is?
I'm not worth just being friends with; I'm only worth the possibility of getting me in BED.

Do you KNOW how many friends I've lost by refusing to bed them?
At least three in two weeks.
In two weeks, THREE friends not friends anymore. Two of them not speaking to me. Those same two had been my friends for about a year, maybe a little less.
I counted them among my good friends.

NOPE.
Just after a relationship.
Both of them just waiting around for me to date them.

I really valued their friendship.

The third was just a potential friend, so I'm less upset about that, but still.

Why am I unfriendable?

Why is it so hard to conceive that all I want is some companionship, without having to put out all the time? Why do I have to BUY my friends with SEX?!

THAT IS WRONG.

The Runaway Bunny

I had never really thought about the parable of the Prodigal Son in the way I did last night.
I had always assumed I was the elder brother. You know, the one who stays at home and does everything right and is rewarded at the end with a reassuring speech from the Father (who is God, in case anyone was unsure about that part).

But I'm afraid I've been baby brother.

I've squandered the gifts God gave me on trying to get attention (usually male attention, admittedly), trying to seek affirmation in all the wrong places. Because I knew I needed something, I still need something, so I went out in search of it.
But when the famine struck and I found no one who would smile at me and tell me how beautiful I was with a pat and a kiss every day, I floundered. I didn't know what to do. I grew "hungry," and desperate, and began taking compliments from anyone, devouring them ravenously as though a casual "You look cute today" from someone I didn't even like would be enough to keep me alive.
I knew it wouldn't.

And I thought in my selfish little brain, "How come my Christian friends always seem so satisfied? Why doesn't God sustain me like that?"

Little by little I realized, it was because I had refused to accept it. I hadn't been looking for God's loving embrace, His constant, genuine affirmations, of "You are my Child, the Beloved."
Well, there they were, the second I thought to look. God came running out to greet me on my shameful limp up the driveway (I always imagine the house in this story as having a really long driveway), and scooped me up in His arms, kissed my tears and whispered, "My Child, my baby girl, my sweet adored angel, how I've missed you!"

No one's love is more genuine.
Humans had failed me, time and again, but my Father, my perfect Savior, He never fails me.

If I hide among the crocuses in a secret garden, He is the Gardener and He finds me.
If I become a bird and flutter away in the distance, He is the Tree in which I rest my wings.
If I become a fish and swim away, He is the Fisherman, the Fisher of Men, who catches me.
When I am a little girl and I run away into a house, He is my Daddy, and he listens to me cry, and pets my hair, and tells me it's all alright.

The Lord will never fail me.
And there is nothing I can ever do, nowhere I can ever go, that will separate me from His love.
I have only to open my eyes and look for it, and there He is, running to meet me and say to me, "Sweetheart, how I missed you!"

So the next time you feel hungry, that you're missing the sustaining love that motivates you, just turn around, invite God back into your life and your heart, look for His blessings, and He will come running to you to hold you and tell you, "My dear, beloved Child, I missed you so."

Amen.