You are cornered. The crowd surrounds you hurling insults at you like rocks. Like rock, each one strikes and bruises as your imperfections and failures are called out publically.
"You're not pretty enough."
"You're messed up."
"You're not good enough."
"You're sick, selfish, insecure, greedy, impatient, lonely, hostile, unforgiving..."
The list goes on but you stop listening. You're broken. Each rock hurts. You believe each rock to be true. You cower in your corner and cry.
Suddenly, everything stops. You slowly open your moist eyes and see a hand reaching to you. Hesitantly you take it and He compassionately pulls you to your feet. He holds you to His chest and comforts you as you cry. When your weeping slows to whimpering, your Savior reaches down and wipes your tears. He touches each one of your bruises as He turns to the crowd.
"How dare you!" He shouts.
God is angry for you.
"These rocks have already been thrown. These insults hurled. This price paid and this punishment fulfilled."
You let go of Him so He can show them the holes in His hands. In His feet. The ripped flesh on His back. This scars on His head. His pierced side.
"How dare you tell her she's not good enough," He continues. "I paid for her. Yes, she can be selfish and insecure. We're working on that. But she's mine. Nothing is going to change that. Ever."
Slowly the crowd slinks backwards and away from you. But He's not done.
"By telling her she's not beautiful, you are insulting My craftsmanship. She is My creation; I formed her to be exactly who I want her to be. I put that place on her head where hair doesn't grow. I put that mole in an awkward spot. I made her ears crooked on purpose. I made her beautiful."
The crowd has vanished now. You look up at Him and whisper, "Is that all true?"
He nods and smiles. "Yes!"