It didn’t start out that way. It never does.
At first, she just didn’t feel good- ever.
When she talked to family and friends about it, they brushed her off and told her she was fine. Eventually they told her she was paranoid- a freak- “so stop talking about it already.”
She went to the doctor. In his stoic, professional manner, he let her know she was healthy…at least her body was. Her mind?…
The shame and condemnation she began to feel from others for a problem she couldn’t identify began to stoop her shoulders. The messages were sublte: “You’re crazy.”
“Worthless. Nobody believes you. Nobody cares.”
“You’re about as valuable as mud.”
Mud. Mud. Mud.
The word became a chain, slipped silently around her soul, and squeezed the color of life from her being.
Slowly. Ever so deadly.
She got a wild idea that maybe she should get some mud.
Maybe she should put it in a vial.
Maybe she should carry it in her purse.
Maybe she should inject it, just a little.
She began injecting mud.
Anytime she felt worthless, she would inject a little bit, reaffirming her value. “You’re dirt. Maybe you’ll kill yourself and do everyone a favor.”
Her body began to respond to the poisons she was pumping into her system. She lost feeling, suffered from nerve damage. Her already deteriorating health worsened- she couldn’t climb stairs and limped when she walked.
When I read her story in the comment section on a ministry site, my heart almost stopped. How I longed to rescue her from the lies- the poison- that ensnared her!
She was asking for help. Was it too late for her? After all she had done to her body, would God still give her a chance? Could God forgive her?
Even now, nearly a year later, I cry. I’ve asked the same thing. I’ve believed deadly lies- injected poison- and I’ve done terrible things to myself and others and I’m the outcast who is worthy of shame, contempt, rejection. Mud.
And the last lie of them all is the deadliest, intended to be the final blow to the soul: “Even God doesn’t want you.”
But God…But God…But God!
But God, when we were dead in our trespasses and sins, made us alive together with Christ- for by grace we have been saved.
Maybe you’ve never injected mud. Maybe your spiritual veins are squeaky clean and you shudder and run from the thought of such darkness. Good for you.
But maybe someone reading this relates. Maybe someone isn’t so clean and wonders if God can forgive you?
My friend, He has.
Those aren’t Sunday School words, they are words spoken by the Someone Himself who left the glory of heaven to dwell in dirt. He came down not just to speak those words but to prove He meant them.
He said it. “Woman your sins are forgiven you.”
He lived it. “..Forgiving one another even as God, in Christ Jesus has forgiven you.”
He gave it. “In whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.”
He died it. “Father forgive them for they know not what they do.”
And then, just to make sure we got it, He proved it. “He was delivered over because of our transgression but was raised because of our justification.”
Start injecting that, my friend.
Start. Injecting. That.
For you are alive from the dead, raised up with Christ. The enemy came and knocked you down and kicked your teeth out and dealt you a blow that sunk you deep and robbed you of life.
But God stepped down from heaven, took on the form of a babe, reached out with Carpenter’s hands, and rubbed the mud from your face, gave the antidote for mud pumped into your veins. “Live!” He uttered. “Live!”
Do you hear His voice? Does your soul stir awake? The Spirit and the Bride say, “Come!”
You who are so good at injecting poison, start injecting Life.