Close your eyes. Visualize yourself as a room.
My mind flips through different rooms, some I recognize, some I didn’t, eventually landing on this small, deep red, rectangular room.
Look around the room. What do you see? Any boxes or furniture or anything?
I look around the room. There is absolutely nothing there.
Look at the walls of your room. What’s on them? Pictures? Trophies? Books?
Scanning the room I see that, suddenly, three of the walls are covered in pictures of different sizes. In the middle of these walls is a horizontal line. A timeline. Starting August 22, 1996 and going to… well I cant see when it ends. All the pictures and dates after October 9, 2018 are blacked out.
Upon closer look at the images, I see they create the story of my life. The biggest images are the most monumental and defining moments in my life- my parents holding me in the hospital bed, my first outing on the boat, picking up a lacrosse stick for the first time, my Clemson acceptance letter arriving, getting placed on Glenview Wyldlife team, and so many more. There were all the incredibly happy and fun memories hanging on the wall, but there were also all the painful and sad memories mixed in, some of them being the larger images on the wall.
Create a self-portrait of yourself and hang it on the wall.
My gaze wanders along the walls, turing in a circle, until it falls on the wall not containing the timeline of memories. There in the middle of the wall hung my self portrait. There is nothing else hanging on the deep red wall except the image hanging in an ornate wood frame. As I look at the portrait, I know there is something not quite right about it, but at the moment I can’t figure out what it is.
Look down at the floor. What do you see?
I glance down towards my feet and let my eyes scan the floor of the room. There are pictures scattered along the ground. I look back up to the wall and see there are empty spots where these pictures used to hang. I lean down to pick one up and I realize what they are. They are the memories I wish weren’t there. Ones I tore off the wall, hoping to make them disappear. They are memories containing feelings of hurt and pain, shame and embarrassment, comparison and stupidity. Memories of things like my family fighting, of me hiding in my bed, crying, trying to block out the yelling. Memories of me trying so hard to impress people, acting in ways that don’t truly represent who I am just to fit in, feeling extremely stupid the whole time. These memories cover the floorboards.
Where is Jesus in your room?
I look around and see no one, but my attention is drawn to the walls. The deep red walls. Walls as red as blood, the blood of Jesus. Jesus is covering the walls, surrounding every moment of my life. Every day, every memory, surrounded and covered by the blood of Jesus. There’s not a second of my life He hasn’t been present in.
Ask Holy Spirit what name He wants to give this room?
I walk a few steps over to a bench in front of the wall with the portrait hanging over it. I sit criss-crossed on the bench, staring at the portrait, trying to listen for what He wants to name this place. I am listening as intently as I can, but I hear nothing.
As I’m sitting there, listening, waiting to hear, the portrait begins to shift and change. It flips through different images of myself, but still none of them are quite right.
Suddenly I feel the urge to look to my left, and when I do, I see Jesus sitting there on the bench with me. I’m not shocked or confused, in fact it feels completely normal, as if He had been there the whole time. Jesus sits there with me, arms across the back of the bench, left ankle crossed over His right knee, watching as the portrait shifts from image to image.
He sees the confusion in my eyes as I watch the change and He makes it stop. He tells me that the self portrait I created is showing the Jessie I want to display. The Jessie I have tried so hard to create these past 22 years in order to be exactly what I thought the world wanted from me. What I thought was expected of me if I wanted to be loved.
Jesus replaces the image of my outward appearance with one of what I look like on the inside. Colors and words and images that show the way He sees me. I can’t quite visualize it, but I still know, without a doubt, that it is the most beautiful portrait of myself I could ever imagine, and I am immediately filled with incredible joy and gratitude.
What is the purpose of this room?
I look to Jesus and ask him this question. He takes my hand and leads me to the walls covered in images, starting at the beginning. We start going through every one of the memories hanging there. We smile and laugh together. We cry together. We look back on every single one of the memories with joy and fondness, even the not-so-great ones.
When we get to a place where a picture is missing, Jesus leans down and picks up the one that is supposed to be there. The memory plays, and while we’re reliving the moment, the hurt and shame and embarrassment creeps in and I stare at the ground, unable to look at Jesus.
The memory ends and He gently grabs my chin and brings my gaze to His. He says it’s okay. He tells me to look at the walls. The blood red walls that cover everything. He tells me He loves me and wipes away the tears, hangs the picture back where it’s supposed to be, and we move on to the next image.
We go through this for every moment in my life, until every pictures has been hung back up and He has wiped away every tear.
Does Jesus want to change anything about your room?
No. There’s nothing he wants to take off my walls. Nothing he wants to change or remove. All He wants to do is take away the shame and guilt, the sad tears, and the hurt I felt, and replace them with joy for the growth they represent.
So He takes away all those feelings and I’m left only with joy. This impossible, incredible JOY!
Is there anything else you want to say to Him? Is there anything He has left to say to you?
All I can say is thank you. I know I’ve said it a thousand times, but they are the only words that will come out of my mouth.
Jesus looks at me and says it right back. He thanks me. He thanks me for the way I have loved Him and followed after Him. He thanks me for the way I have loved and served His people. He thanks me for the way I lived my life for Him. He thanks me for being His daughter, sister and friend.
And then I open my eyes.
