AN OPEN LETTER TO ANYONE WHO FEELS UNLOVABLE.

I HAVE LOVED YOU WITH AN EVERLASTING LOVE; I HAVE DRAWN YOU WITH UNFAILING KINDNESS. — JEREMIAH 31:3b

On Valentine’s Day (and on so many days), we find ourselves looking for someone to love us, someone to fill us up. And so often, we’re left disappointed. We wonder if we’re the problem, if we’re unloved because we’re unlovable. So, we find ourselves trying to fit into a more loveable version of ourselves, a curated version, the best version. But did you know that there’s someone who loves you “as-is?” Someone who sees all of you—the good, the bad, and the ugly—and loves you just the same. Someone who went to incredible lengths just to be with you. His love is an everlasting love and the only love that will ever truly fill your heart and make it whole.   

So, I’ve written you a letter (a letter I need too), reminding you about that love, and just how significant it is to wrap yourself up in it. May it help you feel TRULY loved this Valentine’s Day.       

Oh friend,   

I see you. Struggling, with your mask firmly in place, smile drawn on. You make light, though you’re heavy—weighed down with the weariness of trying, trying, trying. Trying to be someone—someone interesting, someone cool, someone smart, someone not you. Will anyone ever know you? The uncut, unfiltered, uncurated version? The true you?    

Do you still remember that you? Smudged cheeks, a song in your heart, mismatched, wild, uncaring, and unaware? Before the world checked you. Before you saw others as things to become. Before insecurity settled in and made you doubt. Before anxiety told you to worry. Before you hated your skin, your tummy, your laugh, the sound of your own voice. Where did it go? Where is your song? Where are you?    

You’re in there still—waiting, waiting, waiting. Waiting for the safe person, the safe place, a home where you can unpack all those parts of yourself you boxed up. Sometimes, I see a glimpse, the honest you. You’re in there. Just holding your breath.  

But this world isn’t safe. It never will be. You learned it young and learned it well. It says be yourself, but be the you who is a little more like this or that, a little prettier, a little bolder, a little more successful, the “best version” of you. You’ve learned that people love you because and people love you when. So you contorted yourself into the world’s mold, lopping off the undesirable pieces of yourself so you could fit in. Where you were too much, you became less. And where you were not enough, you strived to become. But still you found yourself imperfect and unlovable.   

If only there were a person that loved you as-is—a home where you were always welcome, always loved. Not loved because or loved when, just loved. A home where you can hang your mask and leave it off. A place where you can be accepted, fully known, with all your flaws and failing, and yet fully loved. Could such a place exist? Is it possible you were made for it, and that is why you long for it so desperately?   

Yes. There is.    

There’s a home for you. I know because I’ve been there. And that home is a person: Jesus. He doesn’t love you because you're lovable, but even when you aren’t. He doesn’t love you when you perform, but even when you fail. His love is unwavering, because he is unwavering—a firm foundation for the true you. You see, he loves all the things you’ve learned to hate—your skin, your laugh, your tummy, the sound of your voice. He loves your song and wants to hear you sing it. He loves all those parts you boxed up. He wants them all. He wants the uncut, unfiltered, uncurated version of you. The true you. Because he made you, every single bit. And he loves you radically, completely, without end. And when you come to him confessing your falseness and failings, he exchanges them for mercy and love, kindness and compassion. He bore your imperfections to give you his perfections. Where you were too much or not enough, he was always just right. You don’t have to strive anymore or wear that mask. You don’t have to wait anymore. Your home is here, and he’s welcoming you in. Always. If you’ve never been, or if you've been wandering a while, the door is open. The door is always open. His arms are always open. Always.     

Won’t you go in?

Thanks for reading,

Natalie