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I forced a twisted, pained smile and begged an excuse for a hasty retreat. It took every inch of strength within my small frame to control the overwhelming urge to run away. Fear tightened my throat as intimidation, unworthiness, and hate I couldn’t explain turned somersaults in my stomach. Suddenly I hated myself for letting them do it again, for letting myself stand by without standing up to them.
They saw me and counted me a heathen. It could be my dress, music, or my lifestyle/career choices. Condescendingly they would come alongside, with a prayer on their lips while flaunting their white lab coats. Self-appointed doctors, they wanted to judge me into conformity. They tried to diagnose my sin and prescribe the cure.
They are not doctors, and they have no medicine. They talk about a cure but they prescribe more death. So why would I let them even attempt to operate on my soul? They read the Book, but never once took their eyes off the pages to see that the patient in the most need was them.
I have a Great Physician; He is the best that blood can buy. He’s told me over and over that I am beautiful, lovely, purified, righteous and a new creation.
My Physician wrote the book, but also lives that book out. How could I be so stupid to run back to the counterfeit doctors, every time I felt there was a problem with me? How could I weigh myself against their scales?
Yet I run back to the self-proclaimed doctors who tell me I am ugly, scarred, unworthy, and a rotting piece of flesh. And those doctors don’t wait for me to come to them because, most often, they come to me. Once more I deal with anger, pain, hurt, fear and guilt.
How could I doubt the one Physician that saved my life and promises to never let me go?
Maybe I thought that if my soul doctor knew everything about me, He wouldn’t love me. Somehow I believe the lies, and it makes me feel better about trying to earn my life.
It’s not till I am battered and bruised, bleeding and broken that I find myself back at His office doors. He always lets me in, because He promises that if I knock, He will open. He takes me in his arms, touches my hurts with healing, whispers love in my ear, and graces me with endurance. This is my Jesus and I am his. He tells me, “I have chosen you with everlasting love; you are mine and I will never let you go.”
And I believe Him.