Authentically His.

For most of her life, she thought holiness had a uniform.

It sounded like certain phrases,

laughed at the right moments,

kept a color-coded quiet time,

and somehow always knew what to say in small group.

So she tried them on.

She borrowed other girls’ rhythms—

their worship-posture hands,

their prayer voices,

their favorite verses that seemed to work like keys.

Some days it almost fit.

Other days it pinched.

She loved Jesus—truly.

But she kept wondering why following Him felt like trying to walk in shoes a half-size too small.

She laughed too loud.

Asked too many questions.

Loved movement, sunlight, play.

She prayed best while walking,

thought best while laughing,

and felt closest to God when life felt alive.

But she kept correcting herself.

“Be more reverent.”

“Be more still.”

“Be more like her.”

Then one day

not during a sermon,

not at a retreat,

not in a tear-soaked altar call—

but in the middle of an ordinary, joyful moment,

it hit her.

Jesus was already smiling.

Not waiting for her to quiet down.

Not asking her to tone it back.

Not comparing her to anyone else in the room.

Just… present.

She realized she had been offering Jesus an imitation

when all He ever wanted

was her.

So she stopped auditioning.

She gave Him her real laugh.

Her real curiosity.

Her real energy.

Her real affection.

She stopped trying to sound holy

and started being honest.

And holiness

surprisingly

showed up anyway.

It showed up in her freedom.

In her kindness.

In the way she loved people without performing.

In the way joy spilled out of her life and made others curious.

She still admired other women.

She just didn’t try to become them anymore.

She belonged to Jesus.

And somehow, for the first time,

she fit perfectly.