A while back I shared my testimony at a woman’s luncheon – something I do quite often.  I had just moved from California to Texas at the time and felt unusually emotional in front of the microphone.  I had moved away from my family, ministry team, friends, and home.  On top of that, my testimony can be gut-wrenching to tell; it’s got all the necessary ingredients of a broken life – rape, anorexia, drug addiction, attempted suicide, depression, loneliness, rejection, and fear.  Even though I’ve been sharing the amazing account of how God saved me for years, I nearly always shed a few tears at some point in telling the story.  At this particular event, the tears just flowed down my face.

I am very honest when I tell about the world I came from.  For the sake of the women in the room, I don’t wear a perfect mask; instead, I share my experience from the heart.  I intimately recall what it was like to call out to a God I didn’t know from a place of sheer darkness, to be answered by Him in sweet undertones and thunderous light, and to pass from death to life by simply believing in Him.  Whenever I speak or write, I do so from the pit of my stomach, from the place that remembers well a life without God at the helm.

After that day, the woman who hosted me to speak at her luncheon called me, and we decided to meet for lunch.  As we debriefed her event over soup and salad, the woman commented that many in the room were moved by my testimony, but also asked if she could offer a correction.

“Absolutely,” I said, inching forward on the edge of my seat.  No one who I had spoken for had ever offered me criticism, so I was eager to hear what she had to say.

“The daughter of the King is not a victim, Jen,” she said, “She is a victor.”

The tears rushed to my eyes.  “I’m still mad,” I said.

“I know you are,” She responded, her eyes filled with compassion.

Christ had triumphed over my past.  God had restored my life with unimagined blessing.  But I was still speaking as a victim of the world.  I was still giving more weight to the ways I was hurt than to the ways I’d been healed.  I was still angry at the men who had failed me and manipulated me, and it was coming out in my voice.

“You have a very powerful message,” The woman said, “and I believe it is straight from the throne room.  But you have to let him heal you completely.”

So many questions surfaced in my mind:  Why was it that I still shed tears when I told the story?  Was I really still hurt?  Was I living like the wounded instead of the restored?  Was I speaking more like a victim than a victor?  The truth I had to face was that yes, I was.  And it was the last thing I wanted because it was the last thing God destined me for.

That one correction from that one brave woman spurred an intense season of cleansing in my heart.  As I began to speak – not publicly, but privately – of the wounds that still festered within me, I began to face the deepest lesions within.  At times, it felt like I was swimming through sand and I would choke on the pain of it all.  Overwhelming feelings never discussed before surfaced, threatening to drown me.  For a public person like me, it was a highly personal journey, marked by tears, cries, and confession to the One who could bind up the most jaggedly torn places of my heart.

Towards the end of that season, I had to speak at another women’s luncheon, and it was everything I could do to step up on that stage.  I begged God to tell the story for me this time. And as it came pouring out, I could hear a different voice through the loudspeakers.  The voice was softer, kinder, filled more with the grace of God and forgiveness of man.  The voice was closer to the sound of our Savior.  And for the first time in a long time, I shed no tears.  It was just as honest; just as real.  But it didn’t hurt so much anymore.  There was far more gratitude, more joy, and more hope than there had ever been.

Many of you come from deeper darkness than I; others of you can’t imagine life on earth without God as your guide.  But if you have laid your life at the throne of Christ, you are a victor.  The moment you become His daughter, you are given a resplendent crown to wear, no matter where you came from.

Jesus came to “bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners … to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve … to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.”  (Isaiah 61:1-3).

Are you giving the brokenness in your heart more weight than the fact that God can bind it up?  Are you giving more weight to the captivity of your past or the freedom of your future?  The darkness you’ve been released from or the shackle-free life ahead?  The mourning or the comfort?  The grief or the provision?  The old spirit of despair or the new garment of praise?  The ashes or the crown?

During my season of cleansing, I felt the Lord ask me a simple question, “Which weighs more, Jen, the ashes or the crown?”  The ashes are our pasts:  the hurts, the injustices, the debts owed us, the ruins of what we had once hoped for but didn’t bear fruit.  The crown is our future: the healing, purpose, truth, cancelled debt, forgiveness, grace, and the profound authority given to us by God.

When God asked me that question, I raised my eyes from prayer and looked up to my bookshelf, where I keep an intricately beautiful crown I put on at my events to show women and girls the power of what it is to be a daughter of God.  As I looked at its jewels reflecting the sunlight that streamed in the window, I imagined taking a scale and weighing some ashes and then weighing that crown.  Of course we all know which weighs more.

These days I refuse to put more weight on my ashes, for the past can’t tell us who we are or where we are going.  Instead, I lay hold of the crown of the Daughter of the King, which gives us an eternal identity and destiny.  Although others may not see it, I wear it always. I am no longer a victim of the world, for my life stands for the victory of my King.

My friend, you and I are both crowned in victory, hope, restoration, and purpose.  Our crowns carry the weight of authority that no bucket of ashes could ever outweigh.

Today and in the days to come, choose to wear your crown.  It makes you so beautiful.

“I will clothe his enemies with shame, but the crown on his head will be resplendent.” Psalm 132:18

“I put … a beautiful crown on your head. … [and] the splendor I had given you made your beauty perfect.” Ezekiel 16:12,14

Jennifer Strickland is an inspirational speaker, author, wife and mother of three.  Her book, Girl Perfect:  An imperfect girl’s journey to true perfection, chronicles the powerful story of her life transformation and is hitting a nerve with women and girls around the world.  She was a model for Giorgio Armani, Vogue, Cosmopolitan, Oil of O’lay and many more, but modeling in Paris, Milan, and Munich led her down a crooked path that left her shattered and alone.  But God had a bigger plan: ultimately, she landed exactly where her heart always longed to be, in the secure arms of her Father. Today, Jen loves to share her story with women of all ages, inspiring them to discover their real beauty, worth, and purpose through the Word of God.

Jen also has a journalism degree from USC and a master’s degree in Writing and Literature with an emphasis in Biblical Studies.

You can find out more about her recently published Bible study curriculum at www.girlperfectbook.com, and read up on her upcoming events, testimony, and the mission of her ministry at www.jenniferstrickland.net.

Jennifer Strickland