Flowers from Poop

Today someone called me sensitive. They didn’t say it jokingly or playfully. They said it behind my back. I freaked. 

So after work I climbed a couple miles through the mud to my favorite bench on the hillside and I wrote. 

Am I sensitive? Yes. So why is this persons obvious comment taking a toll on me? I remember growing up feeling like I was too much, too sensitive. Who likes a cry baby anyways? But as I grew up, I grew into my sensitivity and found ways to use it for good. So I sat there on that bench and I wondered what I thought this comment said about my worth. What lie this was speaking into. What pain my anger was trying to hide. I remembered a simple truth that’s so easily forgotten. No word, no opinion could change the worth I was given to at my first breath. 

The turning point for me growing up was viewing my sensitivity as a gift instead of a burden. I saw and felt things other people couldn’t. I put myself out there for the world to see simply because I didn’t know how to hide it. I was stitched perfectly with this sensitivity in mind. God had good plans for my life. 

Hadn’t I already overcome this? Feeling like my sensitivity was one of the bad qualities to brush under the rug and hide? 

We can overcome, overcome, overcome, and I still think there will be things that touch us for the rest of our lives. The parts of our story that never fade. It reminds us of what we’ve gone through and what we’ve made it back from. 

So words hurt, but today I was reminded that no opinion could ever change my identity. My worth remains constant in the one who made me. And I’m sitting here wondering if I would’ve given thanks for that had this person not said their snide comment. Their cruel intention was used for good, and I’m thankful for a God who never stops showing me that flowers grow from poop. 

Find out who you are, know it, recite it, say it in the mirror and live in that truth. And don’t forget the flower/poop analogy, it’s a good one. 


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