Broken-Beloved

“About Benjamin he said, ‘Let the beloved of the LORD rest secure in him, for he shields him all day long, and the one the LORD loves rests between his shoulders.’”

Deuteronomy 33:12

Broken. The word hit me. Knocking the breath out of my lungs.

That word. It hasn’t crossed my mind. Hasn’t had a hold on me in awhile.

Seventeen months ago, I got a tattoo on my wrist. Broken-Beloved. As a reminder.

Because. Because seven months before. The walls I so carefully. So meticulously constructed around myself. They began to crumble. The emotionally controlled, so put together facade. Cracked. And through those cracks. Through those missing pieces, really. It all began to ooze out. And I knew. I knew I could no longer hold in the emotions bubbling over, like too much soda poured into a glass. Fizzing. Foaming. Over the top and down the sides. And no matter how tightly I kept it covered, even with both hands covering the top, it was oozing out all over. I couldn't hold in “the crazy”, and people could see. I was exposed. My broken and shattered pieces only I knew about were now on display for the world to see.

At least that was how I felt. Once again. Felt. Feelings. Not necessarily what the world saw. But what I felt was seen.

So my reminder. That no matter how broken I felt. How broken the world saw me. I was beloved by Him. I was called Beloved by Him.

And I realized that brokenness I felt. I thought everyone saw. Was really a gift. A gift of vulnerability. Of transparency. One where I learned and realized for the first time how I was fully known by God. One where I learned how to go deeper in relationships. One where the walls crashing down was really God building me up.

It was learning to live Beloved. To Be Loved.

But what seems to happen quit a bit. I forgot. I lost it. Lost my identity of Beloved.

I found this short journal. In the notes of my phone. From 12 months ago...

9/14/17

A quick glance down. The charcoal words etched on my skin strike me. Broken. Beloved. Place by a needle with ink on the inside of my wrist 22 weeks ago. For my amnesiac heart to never forget. What I've learned. Where I've been. How far I've come. Who I was. Who I am.

But on days like today. After weeks like these weeks. Because sometimes I can feel more broken than beloved. When the cracks seem wider. The hurt heavier. The days lonelier. I force that amnesiac heart to remember the truth. He knows my name when others don't. He sees my every move when I feel invisible. He will fight for me when I can't get up. He is my safe place when no where else is. I am beloved. Be. Loved.

Because a year ago. I forgot it. I lost it.

And today. That word. Broken. Again. Those broken feelings and thoughts rose up in me. As I talked and reasoned through some new pieces. Some pieces that may or not be revealed.

Broken. I. Feel. Broken.

But on my wrist. Once again those charcoal letters. Written in my own handwriting. That reminder from 17 months ago is still there. Will always be there.

So I force air. Deep breaths. In and out of my lungs. Breath in truth. I am Beloved. Breath out. I am not broken. In. Beloved. Out. Broken.

And like that I remember. The amnesia is gone. I am Beloved. So I will live Beloved.