A Living Poem
My earliest memories are filled with my father telling me that I was worthless because I was born a girl. His cruel words peeled away any sense of value that I might have initially possessed. I spent decades trying to prove him wrong. I sought importance through a myriad of worldly means, before Jesus rescued my tattered heart and saved my soul. What a mess I had become when He found me in my sin.
I believed that I was worth loving only if I was beautiful enough, physically fit, successful in my vocation, clever and highly knowledgeable in multiple areas. Despite all my achievement, I still fought with bouts of self-loathing. The old recordings in my head continued to say that I was nothing.
I love Ezekiel 16 because it describes the spiritual condition that Lord found me in, “…on the day you were born, your navel cord was not cut nor were you washed in water…no eye pitied you…but you were thrown out in an open field and were loathed…and when I passed by you and saw you struggling in your own blood, I said, “Live!” The verses go on to tell of how He had compassion and washed this unloved infant and claimed it. It continues to say that He anointed, clothed and adorned it with costly jewels. In verse 8, God spread His wing to cover the shame of nakedness and “You became mine.”
It has taken me years to understand that my true value does not come through my appearance, the number of dollars in my bank account or what people think of me, but it is because I am His child. The idea that God Almighty would make a sacrifice of His own flesh and blood son for my purchase continues to boggle my mind.
The promised Messiah wouldn’t have died for a worthless human being.
One of my favorite scriptures is Ephesians 2:10. It tells me that I am His workmanship created in Christ Jesus. The word “workmanship” is actually “poema,” which means, “Poem.” I am God’s own work of art, His poetry in motion! It is an incredible thought. I do an art form that uses my own poems to form the imagery; I visualize this verse being the same way. God’s children are walking Poetry Art. I often wonder if I looked closely at my brothers and sisters in Christ, would I see God’s own verses all over them? How often do we walk past the Lord’s poems because of their outward filth and shabbiness, in what station of life they were born into or how unlovable they appear? Imagine what divine beauty we miss!
