The Impartation

“You are my Beloved,”
You said, anointing my head
With oil pressed from the crushing of roses.
Your fingers graced my skin, gentle and sure
And I wondered at how heaven had drawn near, here
In this upstairs room in a bleeding town on the darkest night.
You pulled my hands to your wound-pierced side
And before I touched You, I knew—
All You had ever asked of me was simple
And true—to sit at your feet, wanting one thing only:
To behold your face as you cradle mine
In your beautiful, broken hands.
You are my Beloved.

On a balmy July night in 2018, I found myself in a crowded upper room, surrounded by Filipina and American women who were praying and worshiping God. This was an act of preparation, for we were about to be sent into the neon lights and booming sounds of the bar district below.

My trip to the Philippines was years in the making—something I had dreamed of since 2013. It certainly was not a dream vacation, but rather the fulfillment of something I had long desired: to come alongside women who were trapped in the sex trade and bear witness to the freedom and healing that is found in Christ—a man whose own mission was “To proclaim liberty for the captives” and “to set the oppressed free.” After 5 years of praying and longing for an opportunity such as this, I was able to partner with an incredible Philippines-based ministry that invites women into physical, emotional, spiritual, and vocational freedom through providing a safe and sustainable way out of the sex trade for those who want it.

What I did not anticipate was the way in which God used this opportunity to expose all the ways I was still in bondage. Mercifully, by seeking others’ freedom, God opened the doors for me to find my own. And it all began on this July night in 2018, when our trip leader, Ellen, approached me with a small glass bottle smelling of roses and grace.

“May I anoint your hands?” she asked kindly. I nodded yes and she poured a bit out onto the backs of my hands. Thinking she would soon move on to the next person, I was surprised when she paused and said,

“God wants you to know that you are not responsible.”

I looked at her, speechless. God does not often communicate to me so directly through others.

“You are not responsible,” Ellen repeated, and as she said this something within me broke open for the first time. I began to weep.

As I hung my head, tears streaming down my face, I was filled with memories of shame over all the times in my life that I had named myself a failure, “not responsible” enough to succeed in the real world or add anything of lasting value. I thought of how much I blamed myself and felt responsible for marrying and divorcing someone who constantly betrayed and mistreated me. “You are not responsible” was a word of freedom to this broken part of my heart, too, as God gently reminded me that I am not, in fact, responsible for anyone’s actions apart from my own—nor was it my responsibility to save anyone, as much as I wanted to.

After several moments, my trip leader continued, “God is inviting you to sit at his feet and become like a child again, to be his daughter, nothing more, nothing less.”

As I lifted my head, she looked intently into my eyes and said this:

“You are released into your identity.”

That was the night that God broke the curse of the heavy burden of shame I had been carrying for most of my life. For years I had felt both not responsible enough to live by society’s definition of success as well as too responsible for the actions of others and the pain they had caused me.

That night was the beginning of freedom and a re-shaping of my identity, but walking in freedom has not come easily. God is still setting me free from my tendency to try to earn His love, approval, or favor. This memory keeps me grounded in the blessed truth that in God’s economy, Grace can never be earned.

Grace reminds me that I’m not responsible, because God is.

This memory is a light I still return to when I inevitably lose my way looking for something that is already mine—my unshakeable identity as God’s daughter. I do not know why this is the memory that surfaced as I sat down to write about something entirely different this week, but here it is: an invitation to freedom when we let go of who we think we should be in exchange for who God says we already are:

Beloved Daughter.
Beloved Son.

With you, dear one, God is well pleased.

Amen.