You love me...

I am nestled in on an old pink recliner in the basement of my brother's new home. It's been another long day and tomorrow we will rise very early to finish the job.

As I sit here thinking of things to write, there are a couple different thoughts in my mind. Instead of picking one or the other I am briefly going to write both. The first is this, I did a lot of manual labor tonight. I sometimes struggle with the role of my Godly femininity because, by virtue of my physical make up and my situation in life (unattached) I seem prone to finding myself in manual labor situations.

What I mean by that is that is:
A.) I am sturdy. I am not just overweight, I am big. I have broad shoulders, strong legs am able to do bulky work.
B.) Because I am single I often find myself with no other choice but to do this type of labor myself. For instance, laying flooring, moving a piano around my house, pushing cars out of NUMEROUS precarious situations or my very favorite, changing my own flat tire. (The first time that ever happened to me was on Valentine's Day, up a VERY lonely holler in the Appalachian Mountains.)

Suffice it to say, I find myself in this situation a lot. Sometimes however, when I do, I also find myself struggling with the fact that I am somehow failing my "femininity." I am ANYTHING but dainty. Rather, I'm a bit of a work horse, bred more for hard labor than anything else.

In these moments the enemy is quick to sneak in and try to convince me that is the whole truth. That somehow I am lesser because the Lord only felt I was worthy of grunt work.

I hate him.

It's not true. My father loves me and didn't make me this way because I am inferior. He made me strong, able and most importantly willing.

This is where my other thought comes in. Once again my little Gracie girl has taught me a deep truth.

When I came into the new house tonight, before I ooohed and aaahed over paint colors and stainless steal appliances, I descended the stairs to the playroom. There were my sweet littles having the time of their life in their new home. Gracie leapt into my arms and as I scooped her up and kissed her she said repeatedly and with confidence, "You love me! You love ME!!!"

It was so sweet to hear her little voice saying that with confidence. I love her more than I can even make her understand. Then it struck me.

Why do I walk around being hard in myself when I have a God who loves me more than I could ever fully understand? How much more confident should I be in saying, "You love me!!!"

He does, He loves me exactly the way that I am and didn't make me this way on accident. He loves me not in spite of who but because of who I am.

I want to learn how to lay aside the things that I think make me somehow less and be able to say with complete confidence words that will be even sweeter to the fathers ears as Gracie's were to mine.

"You love me...
You LOVE me...
You love ME...
YOU LOVE ME."

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