His

This week is perhaps a beginning to sharing truth with Europe, which, we are commanded to do in order that others may become as we are—His.

His.

I am His.
Maybe you are His as well.
Maybe you're not.

Maybe you once believed that you were and then unlovely things happened and you took them as proof that He is unloving. I've been there. I've been there within this month. I've been there only to later see the purposes of those wounds and once again fall into humility that I once again dared to doubt his kindness.

But in these last few days, in taking all of this in, in sharing our stories and our messes and sharing about deaths and drugs and absent fathers and alcoholic mothers and crying together and remembering and seeing how only God could have moved in the hurt like He did to bring about blessings and purpose that would otherwise be impossible, I have been overcome with the reality that I AM his. I must be.

I belong to Him. He takes care of me. He doesn't abandon me. He hasn't ever betrayed me.
Its an incredible feeling when you can look back and know with certainty that your life is being completely cared for.
Its something we all need.

And so I will keep being His haircutter, His painter, His missionary—because I have to share the truth and the story of what Christ has done. Its mine, and His, and others need to hear it; they are starving for need of it. I can't let them.