Kissing the color of your skin.

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together 

in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am

fearfully and wonderfully made;

your works are wonderful,

I know that full well.

Psalm 139:13-14

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Dear Me,

You keep thinking about the womb.

How you were formed unlike anyone else and how for so long that’s bothered you.

Small and slight and pale and outwardly a discouragement to all the ways you feel inside.

But what do you really feel?

The quick snips of who God is and how you see Him pale in comparison to the truth of who He is. And it’s no different now. No box can contain Him, and this is hard for your need to slice and dice and categorize.

But He is everything and everywhere, and in all that infinite space, He decided to make you exactly as you are.

Are you tired of fighting it yet?

One day you will be. You’ll no longer feel disdain towards those who say you remind them of a librarian (I mean if the shoe fits...) or those who fear you’ve never seen the sun. Soon, the outsides of everything flick away like ash and all you’re concerned with is the sticky soul-filled middle of everything that comes your way.

It’s like breaking the mirror and then breaking open your ribs to find who you really are.

It’s like ignoring all the other voices to only hear One.

And what can He say other than He loves you, He always has, even as He was fusing delicate bone to bone and bleaching skin so papery thin? He was creating what beats in His own heart, something beyond time and the locked little prison cell you desperately seek.

He’s broken open the door and silenced the mouths of sheep run amuck, too blind and too stupid to know they were formed within the warmth of his heart too.

And how He holds you close as you both walk through, the light and warmth kissing the color of your skin.

Talk soon,

Ericka