What if every time I find myself facedown in shame, it’s an opportunity to again hear his voice say, “Neither do I condemn you”? What if the parts of our stories we’d like to erase become in the end the parts we tell forever? What if when you find yourself there, it isn’t an opportunity to clean yourself up but instead to see yourself as you really are, as he’s always seen you, and still hear him call you “beloved”?
