I kept hearing this word "Chosen" but I was never quite sure I knew what it meant.
I related more to the word "Assumed.”
I assumed you loved me because I was your daughter.
I assumed the title of sister, granddaughter, cousin, niece because of the blood running through my veins.
I assumed you were patient with me in your classroom because it was your job to teach me to be everything I was not.
I assumed you wanted to hang out with me because my brother was popular.
I assumed you put your hands on me when I was drunk because it would hurt the girl that hurt you.
I assumed you wanted to be my friend because the boys thought I was funny and you wanted to keep your enemies closer.
I assumed you wanted me to be your wife because I was desperate enough to stay through every hole in the wall, emotional beating, and infidelity you could find.
I assumed that you were kind to me because my personality was intimidating.
I assumed You loved me because I asked for your presence in my heart through all my sin stained pleas.
I never felt Chosen. I always felt as if the love and acceptance was for anything but just me. Until you chose me. Over and over. Against my greatest faults and hardest attempts to be unlovable. You met me there and you chose me. You chose me when I was still dirty from the journey to an unknown destination. You chose me because you saw me and you loved me. You. You picked me. And you don't love me because I asked you to. You don't pursue me because I have something you want. You find me, broken and weary, time and time again and tell me all the ways that I'm enough. I'll never assume you love me. I'll accept it and share it and breed that love in anyone who will listen to the glory you offer. Because no other choice matters as much as the one you made for me. Chosen.