So here I am going about my day. Pretty much one of the worst days I've had in months, so really, I was dragging myself through the day, but nonetheless still going. And then it hit me. Talking to an acquaintance, casual conversation, she says "I was talking about you to "Jane", and she didn't know who you were, so I was saying 'you know, that chick whose son died', and then she knew."
Come again.
I didn't hear much else because my mind transformed into the Grand Canyon, allowing those words to bounce back time and time again, turning the echo of one statement into a thousand more negative titles I've been given throughout my life. Exhausted from the emotional beat down that the day handed me, I didn't even try to fight back the tears. Just let it go, I said to myself, there's no use fighting it any longer, accept the defeat. And while the years of "you're not good enoughs" and "you're too outspoken" bubbled back to the surface and began to reopen those wounds, I looked down and saw an invitation to an Easter Egg Hunt. (Like a real one that my kids brought home, this isn't a metaphor.)
I smiled, and I crushed thousands of titles with just three words. BUT THE CROSS.
All of the titles that people try to stamp on my forehead don't even come close to the one that Jesus stamped on me with that selfless, heroic move. Redeemed.
Because of that, I'm called by name. The world can try to categorize you by your actions, or tragedies, or past, but Jesus is all like "Um, excuse me ma'am, but I already bought her name tag." (Jesus sounds like John Wayne in this interpretation because being matter of fact in a southern drawl sounds more polite.)
So to "the chick who has three baby daddies" or "the pastor who had an affair" or "that one guy whose wife died" or "that kid with the speech problem"...the hands that have penciled those reminders of us in our minds are NOTHING compared to the hands that were stretched out and nailed to a cross. It is finished.
Oh, and Happy Easter.
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