A mirror image

“You doubt your value. Don’t run from who you are.”
Aslan, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Have you ever wanted to run from who you are? To look at all those pieces of you and think, “I don’t want to be this anymore.” You point out your character flaws and your insecurities and your stark, raw afflictions, and you want to run far and wide as fast as you can. I have. I do.

I have looked at myself in the mirror and mourned over what I saw. Tired of loving, of being vulnerable, of opening up my all too battered heart, I left my reflection and ran, aimless and without direction, anywhere but facing the truth. I stumbled down paths of depression and boarded myself up in towers of isolation. I insulated myself by pretending that the hurt I felt was slight compared to the pain of so many others, and I convinced myself that my mask was really my protection. I argued that I knew what was best…for me… for them. And all the while I doubted – my value, His workmanship, my calling.

“Something is wrong with you.”

That’s the voice that enters my head as I take in that self-same reflection, again. And this time, too, I consider running. I’m inches from darting when I hear His voice, louder and softer than my own, but with more authority:
You can run. I won’t stop you. You can aimlessly wander through paths of pain and sorrow, fighting to get away from what you know is true. You can dismiss that the compassion and passion you feel, that resonates deep and beats rhythmically, is exactly how I created you. You can run from the you I designed and look to be like someone else, a shallower someone more calloused and less affected. I will let you. But you know that at the end of that journey, you’ll find yourself, the you that was always meant to be, in My arms, cuddled in My grace, grateful again for My heart that beats in side of you. So, daughter, why don’t we skip the game of hide and seek, and what do you say we just dance?”

So that’s what I’ve decided. I’m standing tall, looking focused and deeply into that mirror, His face, not wishing I weren’t me but looking to understand why I am. I am gathering up all the pain and the sorrow, the hurt and accusation, and I’m propped up by His feet, and as we sway, He smiles at me, carrying me on, leading me boldly towards myself and catching each tear that falls. And low and behold, if I’m not resembling Him a little more.

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