There are many tragic fairytales, some of them more poignantly so than others. The Little Mermaid is one of these. In many ways, my pre-Jesus days was a lot like the little mermaid. I identified with her quite viscerally. No, not the Disney version, but the original and utterly melancholy version. I was that little mermaid multiplied, a vicious cycle on-repeat, dying a thousand deaths by heartbreak and shattered hope.
The little mermaid gave up her beautiful voice, her precious royal status and environment of pamper, a powerful father who loves her most, and 12 older sisters who teach, play with and protect her; security, enjoyment, luxury and glory in magnificent settings, able to reach any point on earth by water, and a long, long, long (300 years) and prosperous life. Then, she gives it all up, becoming the opposite of her true self, resorting to evil and sorcery to achieve her then-dream: becoming a dumb, poor, and lowly escort to a foolish and fickle human prince she has a crush on.
Today, I sobbed bitterly at the foot of the cross, lamenting my own romantic and sexual brokenness that Jesus has just begun redeeming, asking for Holy Spirit to reach further in to heal me. I laid my broken heart and soul before my God. I thought about the Samaritan woman. I thought about Mary weeping at Jesus’ feet, wiping them with her tears. I thought about the adulteress who was about to get stoned to death by the Pharisees, her paramour no where to be found. I thought of Jacob, I thought of Leah, I thought of Potiphar’s wife. I even thought of Dinah daughter of Jacob, and Tamar sister of Absalom, daughter of David. As I wept, I asked God for comfort, for healing, and for redemption. Lord, recover those years the locusts have eaten. And what an amazing redeemer we have. Thank you, Jesus. To whom I am betrothed, the King of Kings, and Lord of Lords.