I am not my own.
I am a jar of clay lavished by the Hand
of the One who knit me together from dust spun into
spools of copper curls who molded me so intricately
down to every shelf of my spine. He gave it all
to call me His beloved.
I was born in Detroit, but I have lived in a city where people eat lots of granola bars, paddle board, sleep in eno hammocks, rock climb and wear chacos for most of my life. It’s called Chattanooga.
We moved down here when I was in the 1st grade. I was born in August, so my parents decided to have me repeat a grade and sent me to a Christian school where my neighbor worked. On the first day, we started reviewing chapel songs, and when we went over “Joy to the World,” the only version I knew was the one with “Jeremiah was a bullfrog” in it. My teacher (whose name was Janet Jackson) took notice and was adamant about making sure that I understood Jesus that year.
I read The Bible (a version for younger people) and ate it up (metaphorically, of course). From then, I was hand-picked and forever marked and set apart by Jesus.
I was also raised by a wonderful lady who is a resistant, over-coming, out-of-the-box thinker. She is a down to earth woman who paints. My mother had me set up with an easel and paint since before I can remember. She had me painting flower pots for the garden and tie-dying shirts. She also set up a canvas with water balloons full of paint for us to throw darts at and make a masterpiece.
Those are two huge contributing factors of who I am:
I am a daughter of The King.
I am an artist.
With everything I create, I think about it, I pay attention to every detail and I love it so much.
How much more does Father God look at us with that heart?
Just as I love what I create and the process of creating it, so does He with you and me.
Just as He calls you His beloved, so I shall call you my beloved.
You are a spectacular masterpiece.
