I have so many ideas rattling around in my head.
One devotion on bed making. One about listening to foot steps. Another about little white crosses. Then there’s the one where I bare my soul and tell my story.
This is me talking to y’all. About wishing I could talk about something.
And I can’t write a thing. I want to be funny. I want to be deep. I want to be loved. I want to be smart. Or at least sound funny, deep, lovable, and smart. But I gots nothing.
But I have ideas. And I do have a passion for people. I love them. Even the ones that are mean to me. Or the ones who poop on my floor. (I’m talking about you, little Larry!) I want them to feel loved and accepted. My heart aches for those who have been rejected.
And with that comes my post tonight; my confession if you will.
I was one of those that was mean. Still am sometimes. I’m sure I pooped on a floor back in the day. Hopefully I won’t do that again anytime soon. And I’ve been rejected. By many people: peers, teachers, parents, family, and church folk.
Oh the feels.
Y’all. So. Much. Hurt. So many feels as some of my much-funnier-than-I-am friends would say. So much hurt that I endured; so much hurt that I inflicted. And I’d do it on purpose. Boo.
I tell you, her sins-and they are many-have been forgiven, so she has shown me much love. But a person who is forgiven little shows only little love.
I’m different now though. Maybe it’s because I know I hurt others and still stand forgiven that I love a lot now. That’s not a boast or encouragement to someone else to go hurting others so you can love them better later. But it’s hope for those who hurt others out of their deep wounds. It’s hope for those of us who have been rejected and wounded and demeaned.
That sign described a good 7 years of my Christian walk: I hadn’t learned to walk in my freedom yet.
I gave a mini sermon last year and got a nick name of “Post It Note Girl.” It started off with me holding a pad of Post Its and each time I’d pull off a note I’d stick it to myself along with a label. Like, when I was born I was called beautiful. Then on down the line all the way to my adult years and the names that were used to describe me. Pretty, lazy, smart, angry, liar, sweet, promiscuous, depressed, happy, ugly, fat, skinny, sleepy, manipulative, gossip, funny, and abortion patient. After less than two minutes I was covered in sticky notes. The best part was at the end when I ripped all those notes off of me: because the blood of Jesus makes me free. Free to just be Heidi. I don’t have to be a goody two shoes or bad girl. I don’t have to make excuses for me anymore: I can just be me.
I’ve got con-fidence…
That’s a lot of freedom. Free to just live my life and enjoy it. Free to live my life well. Free to love on people and not judge them. I get to be Heidi. And I don’t have to be God: just me.
You can be free, too.
The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.
Jesus died for you to have life and to have that life more abundant. A richer and fuller life: one where you need not concern yourself with what people think of you because you know you are pleasing to God. You’re accepted. You’re loved. Your mess has been washed away. The meanness has been healed.
All you’ve gotta do is accept it and live it. That’s as easy and as hard as it sounds. And it’s worth it.
And that’s my story.. in a nutshell.
Shoot me an email with any questions or comments: email@example.com
I look forward to hearing from you and maybe hearing your story.
My friend Laura took these pictures. She won’t admit it but she is a genius! Love her.