Beloved

“I am your Beloved, and on me your favor rests.�

Is that something you can say out loud to God? It’s something that I tried a few times this week. I’m reading a book by Nouwen, called “The Return of the Prodigal Son� and every few pages something jumps out and hits me. This sentence seems to be a theme that he’s weaving in the various threads of the book.

Here’s a piece I wanted to share:

“At issue here is the question: ‘To whom do I belong? To God or to the world?’ Many of my daily preoccupations suggest that I belong more to the world than to God. A little criticism makes me angry, and a little rejection makes me depressed. A little praise raises my spirit, and a little success excites me. It takes very little to raise me up or thrust me down. Often I am like a small boat on the ocean, completely at the mercy of its waves. All the time and energy I spend in keeping some kind of balance and preventing myself from being tipped over and drowning shows that my life is mostly a struggle for survival: not a holy struggle, but an anxious struggle resulting from the mistaken idea that it is the world that defines me. As long as I keep running about asking: ‘Do you love me? Do you really love me?’ I give all power to the voices of the world and put myself in bondage.

…I am the prodigal son every time I search for unconditional love where it cannot be found…Why do I keep leaving home where I am called a child of God, the Beloved of my Father? …Here the mystery of my life is unveiled. I am loved so much that I am left free to leave home… But the Father is always looking for me with outstretched arms to receive me back and whisper again in my ear: ‘You are my Beloved, on you my favor rests.’â€?
Arg! So much of the time I allow myself to be defined by the little uppers and downers a typical day brings. My boss praises me and I glow. My friend speaks a curt word and my spirit cracks. Up and down, up and down. What a ride life is.

“I am your Beloved and on me your favor rests.�

I like that. I like trying to say it to God in my quiet room. Whispering it as the breeze brushes my lips and carries it away. Trying to speak it a little louder on a hill or in an open field. Sometimes truth can be hard to speak out loud. But it needs to be spoken. I am His and His favor rests on me.