In this broken world, we all believe lies – lies we tell ourselves about ourselves. Lies that shoot roots into shame and fear, year after year. Until, someway or somehow, we catch a glimpse of freedom. Maybe we see someone else walking out their calling and their luminance entices us. Maybe we hear an encouraging word, so we yearn to learn our worth, and unlearn our hurt.
Throughout the past few years, God has revealed to me the plans He has for my life and has given me the faith to believe that in Christ, I am a new creation. I now define myself by His definition of me. And as a result, I walk taller, I breathe deeper, I move mountains. And others notice. Others refuse to define me.
But here’s the thing. I’m white.
Because I’m white, my word reigns supreme. I am authorized to authorize my own identity.
But if I was black, no matter how hard I may try to walk in the light of my true identity, the color of my skin would keep me below the lies I once believed. A white person’s perception of me would hold more value than my own perception of myself.
And this is not okay.