MY Story

 

 

MY STORY

Written by: Jude Herself

I did die. I really did die.

“Oh my God” is an understatement.

What the fuck? What the actual fuck, dude?

I am man. I am woman. Two halves to a perfect whole. I can’t stop this fire in my bones. I have become who I was destined to be—me.

I am Jude. The awakened. The risen. The CHOSEN.

But more importantly—the Initiated.

You may wonder… What does this even mean? A question I only asked myself a million times while treading through the trenches of hell.

"What happened?" you may ask.

Again, a question I asked myself a hundred million times as I walked through the fires of hell. Not scorched. Not burned. But fighting the devil himself—myself.

You see, there’s a reason Christ calls us to renew our minds. To take up our shields, strap up our sandals, and answer the call that God Himself has placed upon our hearts.

"What does this mean?" Yet another question worth asking.

God Almighty wants your questions. Our questions. My questions. Yes, this is deeply personal.

Anyway—back to the initiation process.

When I gave my life to Jesus, right here in this very church, 12 years ago—no, more than that—I decided to uplift others and myself through the Word and Truth of God.

But I had forgotten who I was. Where I was. Where I was going.

I began questioning my own existence, my purpose, my calling. I fell away from God—the man I fell in love with all those years ago when I was just a lost 12-year-old girl. Orphaned by her father, loved by her mother, abused by most around her… including a narcissistic stepfather.

But I am not here to bash or blame. No. That is not the initiation way.

No, no, no, no.

This path is much harder. Much more gruesome.

A story I’ve longed not to tell.

But I have been called. And so, yet again, I am here for you. I have answered. I am willing and open to be vulnerable with all of you today.

I am not lost.

I am not broken.

I am transformed.

Many have looked upon my path with judgment, with fierceness in their hearts, and devils in their minds.

And I was no different—just another of the many.

But I chose to become one of the few.

I chose to lay it all down. Just as Christ—my leader, my guide—showed me and taught me to do.

I listened.

I was liberated.

I am liberated.

But liberation comes at a cost.

Jesus didn’t die for nothing.

He died for peace. For freedom.

For you. For me. For all.

Once and for all.

Let us not forget His sacrifice.

Let us not forget the reason we breathe, sleep, eat, and shit.

This is no joke.

This is life. Raw. Beautiful. Ugly. Truth.

LIFE.

We don’t like to talk about the ugly things. Only the “good.”

"Sit pretty, princess."

Who the fuck are you talking to?

I am a human. A raw fucking human being.

With emotions. With thoughts bigger than I understand. With a body that weighs a ton.

What do you people want from me?!

Anyway.

Back to my story.

And you know what? That’s the greatest freedom I’ve received so far:

The freedom to express and share MY story.

No one can take it.

No one can rewrite it.

It is mine, and only mine, and I am going to tell it.

"Swing, batter batter—SWING!"

I am autistic. I have ADHD.

I survived a traumatic brain injury.

An abortion.

A broken marriage.

A broken home.

A fucked up childhood.

And all the other wonderful things I’ve managed to fuck up in this life.

I feel myself turning dark. Cold.

And that scares me.

Who am I to do such a thing?

Who am I to speak up and share my truth?

I hear nowadays you’re not allowed to have “your” truth.

Well, I say that is bogus.

What is truth but the very word you speak?

How ridiculous is that?

We are all free to speak our truth.

It is our truth that sets us free.

It is a lie of the enemy to believe that your word doesn’t matter.

That your word doesn’t carry any weight.

If that were true, then why the hell was I born to begin with?

Jesus didn’t come so we could be ashamed of our truth.

No.

He came so that we could walk boldly and proudly in the truth we were made and called to share.

I mean, what’s the point of having a story if not to tell it? To share it?

I’ll tell you something.

The Lord saved me.

Not from monsters or demons.

But from the prison of thinking that my story—my truth—wasn’t worth sharing.

That, in itself, is a living hell.

What’s the point of being alive if not to express the beautiful creation of who we are?

MADE IN THE IMAGE.

Smile.

God loves you.

God loves me.

God sees your story just like He sees mine.

He wants you to share it. To express it. To shout it from the rooftops.

There is a God greater than all the forces of this world combined.

Nothing—NOTHING—can or will ever stop me from telling MY story.

My truth.

No blindness. No death. No distance or space between you and me will ever hold the power of claiming my victory in Jesus.

My victory in the Lord.

I am the chosen one, and I walk humbly with the Lord in my God-given freedom to be me.

Perfectly designed. Handcrafted.

Originally made.

I am Jude the Chosen, and I will always stand in my divinity and authority as the chosen one.

To those who don’t believe, I wish for you the sight to see beyond the world you see in front of you.

You are no longer living in a world of the seen but the unseen.

As I write this to you today, I come to tell you this:

You are loved.

Unconditionally.

This is true freedom.

Knowing that a God greater and bigger than you can carry your burdens.

Can handle the load that no other human, animal, food, sex, or any other drug can handle.

We are greater than the world we see around us.

We are chosen.

Have we forgotten that?

The Lord allowed me to go through the most horrific accident.

It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t ugly.

It was an initiation.

And I am proud of who I am today.

Not because of what I have been through, but because I stand glorified in the name of Jesus.

I am the vine, you are the fruit, and my Father the vinedresser.

We are ONE.

And we will all, sooner or later, profess with our tongues that Jesus Christ is Lord.

Xoxo,

Jude