Little Me

Last week I spent time with a resident who was in tears over seemingly spilled milk, that is, until we delved into things further. She was in her forties and a mom of three kids. We talked about the incident and I asked her what it was she was feeling about it. And, believing about herself. As she cried sitting Indian style on her bed with her head down, she told me that she felt juvenile and immature. Embarrassed. She said she felt like a little girl. Ah, yes. That tender child within our adult body. 
Later that night I was looking for a specific photograph in my phone and I came across a picture of myself when I was probably 7 years old. As I looked at my little self, emotion seemed to come out of nowhere. I began to cry and couldn't stop. I wondered what was wrong with me. I  couldn't put my finger on what was happening. Maybe it was because of the experience I had with the resident earlier that day. All I knew was that I had a tremendous urge to hug that little girl really tightly, look into her eyes, and tell her the truth about who she was. I wanted to pour all the love and affirmation into her that I could. I wanted to dispel her fears and insecurities. I wanted to share all the wisdom I could and prepare her as much as possible for the different things she would walk through. I wanted to tell her that it was okay to use her voice. That she really could write and that the poems she would someday enter into the fine arts fair should have won because she was ahead of her time. I wanted her to know that she did have a heart for people who were hurting and that someday, despite what her high school counselor was going to tell her, she would get paid for that heart. I wanted her to know that her body was beautiful and that she wasn't too skinny. I wanted to tell her how to handle the bullying and understand where it was coming from so that it wouldn't continue throughout the rest of her growing up years. I wanted to teach her how to stand up for herself. I wanted to tell her so many things. Oh, how I loved her, that little brown eyed me. I wept. 
If I had a super insightful and brilliant conclusion to that story, wouldn't that be nice? But, welcome to reality! What I can say, is that there was something about the experience that was healing for me. I felt nurtured. As I affirmed that little me, something began evolving. I went from giving to receiving as she became me. I had the lovely knowledge and heartfelt experience of God's love. His eyes looked down upon the crown of my head as I sat on my living room couch. I felt very much, HIS. Some of those crappy situations and even crappier beliefs were dispelled by His hand. His very breath.
In the middle of this thing called life where the enemy's intent is to destroy our identity, God shines through as the victorious truth teller every time. We will get knocked about, no doubt. But, we can get up again. We were created to get up again. The Lord will stop at nothing for us to know the truth about who we are to Him, even using an old photograph in an unexpected moment. His love for us is FIERCE.

"And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is. May you EXPERIENCE the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God." (Ephesians 3:18-19)❤️