The Label and the Lamb
By the time the gavel hit the wood in that Tennessee courtroom, I had been assigned a new identity. The school records said "Gifted," but the legal records said "Thief." I remember the weight of those words. "Thief" felt like a permanent stain, a heavy cloak I was forced to wear because I didn't have the words to explain that I was actually just a little girl trying to steal back the power that bullies had taken from me. The adults spoke about "rebuilding trust," but how do you rebuild something you never felt you had a foundation for in the first place?
The Weight of the Label
For years, I viewed my life with the eyes of those records. I thought my "cracks" were the mistakes I made at fourteen—the things I took, the silence I kept, the nerves that made me shake in front of a Judge. I felt like a "cracked vessel" that was only good for being discarded. But looking back now, especially through my studies in the Word, I see a different perspective.
The Potter’s Perspective
In the Inductive studies we’ve been doing lately, I’m reminded that a label given by a person—or even a court—is not a life sentence. In the Old Testament, we see God take people with "records" and turn them into vessels of honor. He doesn't wait for us to be "un-cracked" to use us; He uses the cracks to let His light shine through. I spent so much time trying to "fully participate" in a system to avoid a label, when all along, I was already labeled "Beloved" by the One who created me.
My Tennessee records documented my 'anxious thoughts' as 'bad choices.' But Psalm 139 tells me that God was already there in those thoughts. While the world was trying to figure out how to 'fix' a 14-year-old thief. In my Tennessee files, the ink is cold and clinical; it documents a "recurring struggle" and labels a series of "bad choices." To the medical system and the court, I was a case number with a pattern of behavior that needed to be corrected. They saw the "what," but they were blind to the "why."
However, I’ve been finding so much peace in Psalm 139:16, which says:
"Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be."
While the legal documents were busy recording my failures, God’s book had already recorded my future. He didn't just see a fourteen-year-old girl "taking things that didn't belong to her"; He saw the bullying that had bruised my spirit and the paralyzing fear that drove me to lash out. He saw the "cracks" in the vessel long before they ever started to show.
I remember sitting in that courtroom, my throat so tight with nerves that I couldn't find my voice. I was terrified that if I spoke, I would say the wrong thing and seal my fate as a "thief" forever. But Psalm 139:23 offers a different kind of trial:
"Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts."
At fourteen, my thoughts were so anxious I was practically mute. I couldn't explain the pain to the Judge or the frustration to the adults in my life. But I realize now that I didn't have to. God was already searching that heart. He heard the prayers I was too scared to pray and saw the girl I was meant to be, even while I was standing in the shadow of a label I wasn't meant to carry.
The world’s records might hold our past, but God’s book holds our purpose.
The Art of the Golden Repair
There is a Japanese tradition called Kintsugi. When a piece of pottery breaks, the masters don't throw the shards away, nor do they try to hide the cracks with clear glue. Instead, they repair the shattered vessel using lacquer mixed with powdered gold. The result is a piece that is stronger and more stunning than the original. The cracks aren't hidden; they are highlighted. They become the most valuable part of the story.
At fourteen, I thought the labels. I had were cracks that made me worthless. I thought the goal of "rebuilding trust" was to somehow rub the ink off those Tennessee records until I looked "perfect" again. But God doesn't use clear glue. He doesn't want to hide what I went through or pretend that courtroom never happened. Instead, He is performing Kintsugi on my soul. He took those jagged edges of bullying, theft, and anxiety, and He filled them with the gold of His grace.
When people look at my life today—as a nurse, a student, and a woman of faith—they might see the lines where I was once broken. But those lines don't represent shame anymore. They represent the "precious gold" of a Savior who saw a cracked vessel and decided it was worth keeping, worth repairing, and worth displaying.
Join the Conversation: Breaking the Label
We all have them—labels that were slapped on us by a mistake, a difficult season, or someone else's opinion. Maybe yours wasn't "thief." Maybe it was "unqualified," "broken," "rejected," or "too much." I’m learning that sharing these stories is how we take the power back from those old records. What is a label you’ve had to carry, and how are you letting God rewrite that page in your own book?
Drop a comment below or send me a private message. Let’s remind each other that our "cracks" are exactly where the light gets in.