I was laying in bed last night, struggling to fall asleep, when I suddenly became acutely aware of my limbs. I became aware of my heartbeat. My skin.
My eyes and my smile and my hair, all chosen by God.
He knows me. He knows how I sleep and what makes me cry and He, in His infinite wisdom and knowledge gave me cheeks that redden and hair that curls and a tender heart.
He made me quick to love and quick to cry and gentle and quiet and goofy.
He gave me a love for singing and failed to give me a Grammy-award-winning voice to go with it. And that wasn’t a mistake.
There is nothing about me that is a mistake.
I look at my hands and I think, “God gave me these. God chose my hands. He chose the length of my fingers and placed each freckle just where He wanted it.” I am, from head to toe, chosen and designed by the God of the universe. And He knows me.
And I laid in bed last night, overwhelmed by the miracle of being a living being in a body. I exist.
I exist, and it’s a miracle, and yet that’s not where the miracles stop. I exist, I have this life and this body, and yet I am MORE than this life or this body.
I have limbs.
I have a voice that can sing and eyes that can cry and a heart that beats fast when I’m scared.
I have a brain that can contemplate deep thoughts and a heart that can hold dear memories and I can snap and skip and laugh and even whistle when I try really hard.
I have a body, but I am more. I know that I know that I know that I will exist beyond this life.
And I know that I’m not a mistake. I know that God didn’t design me from head to toe and then place me on this earth to suffer and struggle and wait for heaven. Heaven is our home, yes, but this life is a gift. It’s a gift and we’re meant to live it fully.
When I look in the mirror, when I look at my face, the face that God gave me, I see that I am not a mistake. I am not insignificant. I matter.
I see how much detail and love God put into creating me, and in the length of my eyelashes and the funny shape of my ears and the poignant hope that fills my heart when I reflect on how much God loves me, I hear Him saying that HE HAS A PLAN.
He planned my date of birth and my skin color and the size of my feet, and it would be completely insane to think He placed me here on this planet with a “good luck, don’t forget to call!” and started being involved in my life and existence in a more “supervisory” way.
He is still intimately involved. If He cared to place my freckles one my one, certainly He hasn’t stopped caring. HE HAS A PLAN.
He has a plan FOR ME.
Me. With my awkwardness and emotional baggage and tendency to despair. He has a plan for me. My story is ongoing for a reason. I am here for a reason.
I have skin and a heartbeat and eyes that see FOR A REASON.
I don’t feel that in my heart right now. Every day feels impossibly hard and just breathing moment to moment feels like more than I can handle, but last night my brain told my heart it didn’t get to have an opinion anymore. Or, rather, it could have an opinion, but its opinion would be met with a compassionate hug rather than serious consideration.
Last night the truth that God has a plan for me and my life, even in this messy and broken state, hit me like science. It was like someone dropped a highly researched, 100-page article on my chest. Facts and figures and statistics and proven hypotheses. Truth. Unarguable truth.
I am not a mistake.
I am not just a product of my parents.
I am God’s.
And He has a plan for me.
I don’t know what that plan is. I don’t know when I’ll feel okay again. But I will keep breathing.
And when I forget, when I start to think there is no hope, when panic threatens to overwhelm me, I’ll look down at my hands. The hands that God made.
And the hands He is still holding tight to.
I started to cry at a client’s house today. She lost her baby when she was 38 weeks pregnant.
She has baby stuff and no baby to use it.
She had planned on being a mom, having a baby to bathe and feed and wake up to in the middle of the night, and now her future is a question mark.
It is heartbreaking. Completely unfathomably heart-wrenching.
But her story is ongoing. And her baby existed for a reason. And I know that.
And I looked at my client with love and compassion and a heart full of prayers for her, prayers for her to be okay again in a way more complete than I am able to help her be. And I told her, “You’re still your baby’s mom, it just looks different than you expected. But you will see her again. I KNOW there is a heaven. And I KNOW your baby is happy. And I KNOW you will be reunited again someday.”
And I said those words, and I didn’t expect it, but my eyes filled with tears. And I think that’s what can happen when you speak truth to someone. Your heart recognizes it as truth, and the beauty of that truth, the truth that this life is just a blink and our suffering is temporary, it overwhelms our hearts with joy and gratitude. And hope.
I exist. And I will continue to exist.
Jesus, hold me. I cannot do a single day without You. I need you every single second.
With all that I have left within me, I will hope. I will inhale and exhale my way through today as best as I can, and I will try not to think too much about tomorrow. I will fill my brain instead with truth. I don’t know what tomorrow brings, I don’t know when or how or I’ll feel okay again, but I know who You are. You are God. And You love me. And I am planned.
And that’s the truth.