Who would I be if I were fully me? If I were completely alive to every nuance of the physical and spiritual DNA the Father conceived just to craft me?
What if the layers of self, of sin, of this weary world were peeled back, exposing the raw regeneration of reborn life in Christ?
No more shame to hide behind like so many leaves stripped from nearby foliage, covering my nakedness. No more fear to keep me cowering from intimacy with the One who gave me life. No more hopelessness strangling my joy. No more empty weariness, the residual of endless lies I’ve embraced.
No more hesitation. No more second-guessing. No more small or tight or not enough. No more what-if’s or I-should-have’s. No more falling short or reaching too far. No more too-foolish dreams or unfulfilled destiny.
Because in being fully me, I would be fully alive. I would dance and spin and wonder in the breathtaking awe of new birth, and I would not hold back, not even once. I would stand, fully confident that there is nothing but confidence to be had. I would radiate joy because joy is my inheritance, and I would be wealthy beyond belief.
What would she look like, that woman I was born to be?
Last month, over a seemingly bottomless basket of chips and salsa, my sister-in-love and I wrestled through this tantalizing concept.
We’ve always shared so much: old movies, the best books, delicious food, travel to far-off locales, whole-hearted homeschooling, gut-wrenching giggles, long beachside walks. And JESUS.
But as we are mellowing into the patina of unabashed womanhood, we have uncovered a more recent commonality.
That afternoon, while eagerly consuming our steaming plate of fajitas, we recognized a truer hunger in one another’s souls. It’s a hunger that, as we have embraced the maturity that comes with years, demands to be satisfied. We yearn to be freely us, no holds barred. But not just us.
The us that we were designed to be.
And in the revelation, we confessed to one another: we so often hold back.
So what would it look like to no longer hold back? What would it look like to get a full-throttle, heaven-glory revelation of the woman God envisioned when He designed me, and then…
Just a sliver of the idea can be enough to send my knees knocking. Because I have a vague notion of who that girl is. I’ve caught glimpses when the Holy Spirit comes tapping and I swing the door open a crack. I say yes, and He says alright then, and together we move forward like a freight train on fire. And at some point, I force the lid back on because it’s just too much. But for that moment, I’m alive. And it’s incredible.
It’s then that the fear of man peels off, a matted, filthy coat, two sizes too small. Joy rushes like a tidal wave, carries me far from the shore of the impossible, saturates every parched crevice of me just dying for a drink of the Father’s delight. Hope bustles in, vigorously wielding the broom of faith to all those dank and dirty corners stuck in the shadows.
And when I peek my eyes open for just a moment, I can spot the wake of light trailing behind me, because the Father’s glorious, weighty presence is filling every cubic inch of space in this earth suit and I just can’t contain it.
To be fully me, the me I was born to be… it’s almost too much to take in. Because I was made to be the kind of beautiful that makes folks stop and stare, slack-jawed. Not because there’s anything significant about the outer shell, but because the outer shell’s about to bust with God-radiance intensity: the kind of glow that Moses carried when he clambered down Sinai and the Israelites begged him to cover up. He couldn’t contain the goodness of God oozing out of every pore, lighting up every fiber, and they couldn’t contain their holy fear.
And yeah, to be fully me would mean that when I walk into a room, I carry with me the pulsing, vibrant presence of Almighty God. So people’s lips start quivering as the love that overwhelms every last-ditch wall of defense shifts the atmosphere. Holy awe fills the room like incense; Jesus starts breaking all bondage, just because a container for His Spirit is present. He shows up and shows off as spiritual chains go flying, restoration is released, and healing breaks out. And I just get to giggle with the sheer delight of it all because my Abba’s at work and my Dad is amazing.
We leaned back in our chairs that afternoon, lifting our faces to the early spring sun. There was no denying the truth: we were desperate. Desperate for more. Desperate for it all.
As we parted for the day, we covenanted together. I’ll always encourage you to be that woman.
To go deeper, to climb higher, to live completely abandoned. To walk in the FULLNESS of who you were created to be.
And although we headed home satisfied, we had never been hungrier.
Photo by Kelly Daub