It’s the still, small whisper in the morning that calls me over my hot, cup of coffee. “Victory, come sit with me. Come be with me.” I sit, with my bible open to Matthew, a book I’ve read and re read at least ten times over. Still, without fail, I receive my daily bread.
He calls me Victory.
I like discovering the meaning of people’s names. It’s interesting to see how our names play out in our lives. When you think about it, your name has been constantly spoken over you your entire life. Your name was not a choice, but given to you by somebody else. It’s who you are.
My name is Lauren, which means “from the place of laurel leaves”. Laurel is the plant that the ancient Greeks used to make crowns for athletes after winning a competition. It’s a symbol of honor, high esteem and triumph. It’s a crown draped in perseverance, and overcoming great trials.
It’s a crown of victory.
He calls me Victory.
I thought that to be victorious meant to win by the standards of mankind. I thought that to be victorious, meant to be successful; to win the prize, get first place, to be the best. I watched myself through the eyes of others, learning who I should be. How I should walk, talk and act so I can fit into the mold created for me by man. I can only be the best if others tell me I am. I did everything I could to be the greatest. How can I be the favored daughter? The best student? The strongest athlete? The steadiest, most consistent friend? The perfect girlfriend? Or the ideal woman? All of these roles, titles and labels, achieved through what others believed it should look like. I consented to live in this game; I chose to believe this was true. I was always building structures, through the mind of mankind, of what I should be, and hiding myself within them.
Next to my Father, this building crumbles into a million pieces.
Because he calls me Victory.
Victory is not the title, but abidance. It’s on my knees, face to the floor, with my hands open in surrender; this act of becoming physically smaller, so He can be bigger. Victory is the quiet freedom from the thought of man. It’s saying,“let me check on that” when the lies pour in, and we bring them to the Father. Victory is giving my Father complete authority in my life, trusting that He knows the best way to be human. It’s deciding to stand on our Father’s promises, knowing that He is faithful and they will be fulfilled. It’s placing myself in the gap, praying for my brothers and sisters who are persecuted around the world. It’s believing in my identity, when everything around me says it’s untrue. Victory is remembering His victory on the cross, and knowing that my shame and guilt is no longer mine to carry – He bought it off of me.
Even when I feel like I’ve failed, He calls me Victory, for He sees my eternity. I can only tangibly hold the perspective of the present while He says, “Wait, I can see it… Just wait, Victory. Keep walking with me.” I can only guess, and speculate as what is to come, while He lays the banner over my life that says I have already won. HE has already won.
So He calls me Victory.
