READ: JOHN 1:12; 2 CORINTHIANS 5:17; GALATIANS 2:20; 1 PETER 2:9

What am I? I thought as I stared down at my hand, now covered in words written in permanent ink. Cruel words, words that had been carved into my heart for years, now written all over my hands—they stabbed me, again and again, like knives in my heart.

This can’t be who I am. I thought desperately. Lazy, slow, fat, short, stupid, weak… Every word stung with fresh pain when I looked at it. Insult after insult, crawling up my fingers and over my knuckles like ugly insects.

Oh, God, no. This can’t be who I am. Where had the prayer come from? How had God come into this? God didn’t belong here, with this hand, covered in my failures; with this heart, full of bitter self-hate. But I looked out the window, over the bare trees reaching for the open sky, flushed pink with the evening sun. I was kneeling on the floor, crushed beneath the weight of the letters on my hand. What am I, God?

This isn’t who you are, Becca. I blinked at the soft whisper in my heart. That writing isn’t you. That writing is what they think of you. It isn’t what defines you. I will tell you what you are. You are beautiful. You are strong. You are treasured… Above all, you are loved. Replace those words with My words, Becca. All that matters is what I think of you, what I say of you. Because I know you. And I love you.

“Okay, God,” I sobbed. “But it’s so hard. These words—they won’t just go away.”

By My power, they can. Slowly and painfully, they will leave as you replace them with My words. It won’t be easy. But I will help you. I will remind you. I will love you.

I looked up, back out the window at the setting sun. I lifted my hand and looked at the words, feeling their sting. No. I picked up a red marker from the floor. I opened my hand and, right over my palm, wrote the words, YOU SAY.

The red ink, like Christ’s blood, covered some of the letters of shame on my hand. A sense of calm that I hadn’t felt in a long time settled over me. And while I knew it wouldn’t be easy, little by little, the poison of the words of shame would give way to the peace of the red letters, of what God thought of me. I would let His words guard me from the sting of lies. God would define me. I am what You say of me. • Rebecca Roskamp

• What letters of shame have you been carrying? Consider taking a moment to bring these to Jesus.

You have searched me, Lord, and you know me. Psalm 139:1 (NIV)