You Are What You Believe

I didn't do the assignment. In fact, I wasn't even 100% sure as to where my card and verses of truths were located. I opened my computer to begin my blog post and just sat thinking about why this assignment was so much harder than the previous ones. I tried to justify myself by claiming I was busy, preoccupied, etc. Eventually, reality punched me in the face. I flat out neglected it. I deliberately chose not to remember to do this assignment. I sat there dazed as I whispered, "Father, show me. I'm listening". I was finally choosing to remember and I grabbed my "Identity Gap" card for the first time since class.

Identity Gap:

"The belief that I am everyone's second choice. I am the "free" part of the "buy one get one free" deal. People take me because I am free and available, but they would never go out of their way to get me. I am not completely useless, but everything I have to offer is replaceable by something better. I am never anyone worth choosing first dibs on."

As I read those words on my card, they didn't even sting. They were all to familiar and resonated deeply with me. The lies in those words were no longer painful because they just felt like factual words. My identity gap was a fact and I just had to get over it and move on. So I did. I just began to accept this reality and run with it. Instead of wasting time trying to measure up and become first choice, I just decided I would neglect myself all together and put all of my efforts towards lifting other people up. There was no point in sulking in my inadequacies, I may as well invest all of my energy into encouraging other people.


I sat there thinking and was reminded of some words a friend gave me a couple months ago. She had this picture of me with a clipped tongue. One side of my tongue was speaking truth, love, and life over the people around me and encouraging them. While the other side of my tongue was doing the opposite for myself. One side love, one side hate. One side truth, one side lie. One side life, one side death. My tongue is constantly at work beating myself down as I encourage others. I realized even just this week my clipped tongue was at work. I remember multiple times where I was able to encourage people and speak truth over them, while I sat there neglecting this assignment because I didn't think I deserved to receive truth.


I then realized that I was the biggest source in feeding the lies within my identity gap. I neglected the assignment, just as I felt I deserved to be neglected. I spoke these truths over others, instead of myself. I fed my identity gap and blinded my eyes from the truth. And now I sit here, realizing I need to scream the truth at myself. I need to remind myself that Jesus died for ME. I was on trial for death and he said "I'll take her! Whatever the cost, it doesn't matter. I want her. I CHOOSE her". And I would like to think He would do it all again. I think He would pick me first. I think He would die even if I was the only person to die for. I think He would take dibs on me. And now I just pray that my "I think" can turn into "I believe". I pray that these truths aren't just head knowledge, but heart knowledge. I finally picked up my bible and verses of truth and landed in Ephesians.

"For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will..." Ephesians 1:4-5

With that, I will choose to believe. I will try to let the lies starve and only feed the truth. Even when I don't feel like it's doing anything, I will trust that speaking these truths are internally changing me. I will eventually understand that I am chosen. And not just the leftovers, but the first choice pick.

Perfume Coated Sin

As I opened up to Matthew 16:24-26,  I saw the words "Take Up Your Cross and Follow Jesus". I knew where this was going. I knew why we were standing in an empty warehouse. I knew we were going to make our crosses, carry them, and ponder the meaning of the cross. As Dr. Dangaran continued to read the passage, I let my mind wander into rebellion. I had done this before, I knew the moral of the story and didn't feel like doing it all again.

Will you still let me speak to you, Jess?

Those words pounded through my ears. I had a choice. A choice to go through the motions of the project or to choose to allow the Holy Spirit to speak to me as I did the project. As conviction set in, I asked the Holy Spirit to change the state of my heart to a posture of receptivity. As I collected my wood to make my cross, I stared at it imagining what I could do to make a really cool looking cross. I measured, cut, and began to assemble my perfectly symmetrical cross. I searched through the bin of screws and nails to find four that were as close to identical as possible. I assembled my perfect cross and admired how aesthetically appealing it was, until I noticed the tiniest split in my wood. My perfect cross now had this tiny blemish that was screaming its imperfections at me. I began to problem solve. Maybe I can take it apart? Maybe there's some extra wood and I can make a new one? Maybe I can cut it down smaller and cut out the split part? Maybe I can...

Jess, why are you trying to make your sin look pretty?

Ouch. The reality of the words of the Holy Spirit sunk deep into my heart. I couldn't even muster up excuses, I was stunned by the conviction that was residing in my soul. I stared at my perfectly measured cross and felt sick to my stomach. It was a replica of my life. After spending 23 years of my life listening to people speak of the cross and sacrifice Jesus made, I was inclined to do what I could to "clean up" the reputation of the cross. I felt the need to take it into my owns hands by admitting my sin, but making it seem like the not-so-bad kind of sin. I realized I felt guilty that Jesus died for my sin, my mistakes, my flaws. Not only did He die; He was tortured, ridiculed, and murdered for things I had done. I took the hammer and began slugging my cross. Fragments of wood went flying everywhere and my fingers were impaled with splinters. I stared at my mangled cross as my soul quietly whispered, "I'm sorry".  Sorry for downsizing the reality of the cross. Sorry for spraying perfume over my foul sin. Sorry for attempting to beautify the weight of the sacrifice of my beloved Savior. Then my sorry's transferred into thankfulness. Thankfulness that I didn't have to carry the weight of my sin.

For me, the "Carrying Your Cross" activity ended there in the warehouse. As I have carried my cross, I haven't really processed much more than what happened in the warehouse. I've primarily been revisiting my interaction with the Holy Spirit as I destroyed my "perfect" cross. In the process of un-perfecting my cross, I pinched myself and got a blood blister on my finger. The past few days this blister has been a reminder of the blemish of sin that stepped into humanity. But, as I have looked at this blemish on my finger, I've been able to hold onto my cross and remember the price that has been paid. I've been reminded that sin isn't pretty. Yet, through the blood of Jesus Christ on the cross, I have been reconciled to my Creator and I have been named spotless, blameless, holy.

With that, I can rejoice.