Who told you that you are naked?

Tonight as I prayed and when to my private place with God, I had a vision. I first stood on the beach with arms stretched out to the side in a stance of praise before Him. I then stood tall with chest out as Superman. I was proud and might as the oak He said I am. Then, I could not hold my belly in any longer. I let it out and it stuck out further than my chest. I could not suck it in. I then saw myself in the "inner room" where I can talk alone with God. A place for just Him and me. And there I stood, trying even harder to suck in my belly. To cover myself. My clothes could not cover me. My belly was too big. I fell in a ball on the floor desperate to hide my fully naked body. My belly big and round and ugly. My body, a hideous mess. And He stood before me as I lay curled up crying. I picture my self cutting my belly out like I would an apple. Just get rid of it. Get rid of my ugliness, my doubt and shame.

He says to me, "Who told you that you were naked?"

Who told me? Is it not obvious? I thought, "You bastard, this is your fault! I have served faithfully. I have given so much. I have been patient. I have "played" the game. Yet I have no blessing. I still struggle. I am still fat and ugly. I still sin.I am still not worthy of you and I have loved you so much!" I yell this through my sobs and cries. I mean it but don't. I am ashamed to feel it and say it but know it is truly how I feel.

Naked.

He lifts me up and tells me to see myself as He does. That is all well and good but I live among people. I want to be liked. I want to be a good person in their eyes. I want to be like the worship people. Admired and revered. Oh I have heard the "they put their pants on one leg at a time like everyone else." Bologna! If they did, they have to deal with the same shit I have to deal with.

All of this praise God for this or for that. "oh, I am thankful He did this for me." "I did something bad to a friend and God helped us restore the friendship" It all feels fake when compared to the raging storm with in me. "give more to God, Give Him your time, Give Him your self. I have! I gave it, freely and without reservations. But still I am laying on the floor before Him naked and ashamed. Crying like a baby. Here is your mighty oak, Lord! Here is your broken servant.

I can do no more. I want to fly. I want to live. I want to BE the oak tree. I want to BE the hero. Not just pretend to be. But I don't know how. I don't know how. So I lay here before God naked and ashamed.

I hear again through my sobs, "Who told you that you are naked?"