One Year. One Word.6
I got a tattoo in October. Did I tell you that? Probably not. That was right around the time I quit writing for the most part. But I did. After years of talking about it, I finally called a couple of friends one evening and said, Hey, I’m going to go get my tattoo this evening. You want to go?
They did. So we went.
Just one word. On my wrist. It’s not positioned for the world to see. But when I look at my wrist, I see it clearly.
I need to see it clearly.
I’ve lived most of my life feeling like if I just did one more thing or gave one more hour, then I could control God’s love for me. And in my head, I know that I can’t control it, that he just loves me with no strings, no expectations and no contingencies. And yet I still feel the need to prove myself worthy. And I just can’t.
Because I can never do enough things or serve enough people or love enough to deserve the love that he has for me.
There are no conditions. Just be loved.
But it’s in my deepest hurts and scars that these feelings start to bubble up. There’s no way that God can love you. Look how much you screwed up today. Look at the hurtful things you said.
So then I start to work again. I screwed up, God, but if I do this, surely you will be able to love me just a little.
It’s a long and exhausting cycle.
And I’m just flat-out tired.
So this year I’m going to let my heart take hold of what my head already knows. I am a beloved child of a gracious king. Regardless of how much I screw up or how much good I do.
It’s my goal by the end of this year to be able to sit and be comfortable in that.
To be loved.
Because I am beloved.
When I am hurtful and when I am hurting, I am beloved.
When I do it every way but right and when it’s perfection, I am beloved.
When I am, I am beloved.