This Little Light

I’m not a prophet or a pastor, a martyr or saint.  I’m not a Biblical scholar or a theologian.  I’m just a girl, selfish and flawed, broken and scattered.  And thirsty for faith.  For living water, for daily bread, for forgiveness.

And nothing moves me more than hearing those words:  You are forgiven.

Nothing moves me more than hearing:  I love you anyway.

Nothing moves me more than hearing:  You’re exactly as I created you to be, in My image, all of the pieces, even the messy ones, especially the messy ones, I’ll take those too.  I’ll fill you with light.

I cry when I hear it; my cup spills over.  Nothing is more powerful than:  I love you anyway.  And I feel those big arms around me as I bury my face in His chest.  My Lord, my God, my Light, my Salvation.  Thirst-quenching love, living water.

And yet, so often, I hide it away, this spirit that fills me.  I gulp it down and hide it, afraid of what others might think, afraid that I’ll be labeled “Religious” and all the baggage that comes with that:  foolish, prejudiced, fanatical, devout, Bible thumper, judgmental, pious, self-righteous.  So I hide it away.  Bumper stickers make people rush judgments, put people in boxes, lump people together.  I don’t want to be a part of a lump.  I don’t want other people’s assumptions on me.

And yet…

I have something to say.  About faith, about love, about forgiveness.  About Jesus.  This little light of mine, it doesn’t want to be doused.  It wants to shine, shine, shine.

I have something to say.  It’s important.  I’m gonna say it.