A Temple for the Holiest of Holies

If you visit this site and navigate away feeling like your worth is generated from the appearance or contents of your home, then I have missed the mark in conveying the work The Lord is doing in me.

Nothing I say after this will make sense unless I first make something abundantly clear.

God sent His Son to live on earth — fully man and fully God — to die a horrific death as a substitute for my sins and for yours: the death we deserved. In God’s great mercy, and through what Jesus did on the cross, we may be saved — an invitation available to all who believe.

“If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.” (Romans 10:9–10)

“For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.” (Ephesians 2:8–9)

Friend, if you have not accepted Jesus as your Savior, I pray you would consider this your invitation to do so now.

But let me tell you something: I have spent most of my life missing the other half of the Good News. Can I take you on a journey of what God has been knitting together in my life over the last six years?

Until college, I believed I had to earn my salvation. In Christian culture, this is often called “works-based theology.” I was intimately — and shamefully — aware of my sin. How could God save a wretched sinner like me… expecting nothing in return?

So I worked.

I hosted philanthropy events;

I started a food pantry;

I attended church;

I tried to be perfect;

Because maybe God could make sense of saving me if I brought something to the table, right?

One night in college, my roommates and I watched American Gospel, a documentary about Christianity. We huddled together in our crackerjack-box of a room, and that night I heard a simple phrase that changed my life:

“Your works are a fruit of your salvation; your works are not the root of your salvation.”

Salvation is Jesus + Nothing.

It is not Jesus + Good Works.

It is not Jesus + Near Perfection.

It is not Jesus + People’s Opinions.

Salvation has nothing to do with what I bring to the table and everything to do with what Jesus already finished.

Praise God.

And while I understood that truth — and it changed my life — I still wrestled with my identity. My eternity was secure… but what about my earthly value? Even deeper:  Jesus saved me and I will spend eternity with Him, but how does He feel about me right now — here on earth — flaws and all?

I had health issues.

I made mistakes.

I sinned.

I fell short.

I experienced beautiful relationships and painfully hard ones.

My husband and I lost our baby, and I blamed God. I was hurt and angry.

God saved me. But did He love me for me — or because He had to? And if I wasn’t convinced the Lord of Lords loved me without condition, how could anyone else?

So I worked some more. Not for salvation — but for validation.

At rock bottom, I began biblical counseling. One day, my counselor recommended a podcast episode titled “I Blew Up My Life with Dani Austin.”

I was driving from one obligation to the next — on my hamster wheel of proving my worth — when Dani said: “I thought I needed to manufacture my value.”

My heart stopped.

She put words to the life I was living but couldn’t define. The idea that my value wasn’t manufacturable — but inherent — felt foreign.

I immediately shifted to prayer.

Though not audible, I am confident the Lord impressed this on my heart: “Just as salvation is Jesus + Nothing, your value is Amarie + Nothing (because of the Holy Spirit within you).”

For weeks, I thought I needed to “blow up” my life to prove this. Cancel everything. Strip it all away. Show myself I didn’t need anything to create value. But I have a job. I have a toddler. I found myself stuck in the “almost” and the “not yet.” There was a stirring — but I still couldn’t fully grasp what God was teaching me.

One Sunday in community group, we discussed how the hills and valleys of life impact us.

“I’m pretty wrecked,” I thought.

A wiser woman in our group said calmly: “When I was your age, I was very swayed. It wasn’t until I placed my identity in Christ that I could remain steady amid any waves.”

You mean there are people who aren’t devastated by innocent mistakes? Who aren’t working themselves to death? Who aren’t anxious about what their neighbor thinks?

That sounded like a fever dream. But I craved it.

So I began asking the Lord what it truly meant to place my identity in Him. I begged for clarity. It didn’t come quickly. I sat with that question for months.

In the meantime, God revealed something else: I was living in a love of self — not outwardly, but inwardly. I wasn’t obsessed with my appearance. I was obsessed with protecting my feelings. Avoiding pain. Controlling outcomes.

I didn’t want to live that way. Scripture is clear that self-exaltation is sin. My husband quite lovingly and with the best heart posture said, “Just give it to God.” But surrender didn’t feel simple. I pictured dropping off my feelings, walking away, and being left unprotected.

So again, I asked God to teach me what surrender really meant. Through Scripture, I learned that biblical surrender means to yield to God.

What a beautiful picture.

I imagine coming behind a pilot car in traffic — slowing down, falling in line, following closely and intentionally. “Lord, I yield” became my daily prayer. And as yielding became my practice, I found myself more ready to listen.

One Sunday, during our study of John, our pastor read a familiar passage: Psalm 23.

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures.

He leads me beside still waters.

He restores my soul.

He leads me in paths of righteousness for His name's sake.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear no evil,

for you are with me;

your rod and your staff,

they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me

in the presence of my enemies;

you anoint my head with oil;

my cup overflows.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me

all the days of my life,

and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord

forever.

For years, I focused on the valley of the shadow of death. The enemies. The evil.

But this time, our pastor asked:

“Why would we search for significance when the God of the universe knows our name? He continued, “And he does not just know our name – he knows us; and he restores our souls.”

God restores my soul.

He overflows my cup.

I will dwell in His house..

Me.

Amarie.

Known by the Lord of Lords.

So known that He leads me beside still waters no matter what comes my way. The God of the universe allows His goodness and mercy to follow me, deeply and in pursuit of my heart. 

I think I’m starting to understand.

Days later, I was listening to Sadie Robertson’s Whoa That’s Good podcast, with Megan Fate Marshman. I was not familiar with Megan, so I did not go into my listening with expectations. Minutes into the show, Megan explained the doctrine of double imputation.

Imputed means the "the act of crediting, accounting, or attributing something to a person's account that was not originally theirs."

The first imputation: our sin is credited to Jesus. On the cross, He bore our punishment.

I had always understood that part.

But the second imputation? I had been searching for it my entire life. Little did I know …

Jesus’ righteousness is credited to us.

When we trust in Him, we are counted as righteous — not because of what we’ve done, but because of what He has done. His Spirit dwells within us.

Which means, through the Spirit, we are also called:

Holy.

Loved.

Blameless.

Righteous.

Not someday; Today. Not because of me — but because of Christ in me. That’s how I can place my identity in Christ.

Because Christ lives in me.

And while I can’t take credit for discovering this truth, I do believe God brought me to it in His perfect timing — so I could tell you, friend:

It probably isn’t great for business to say this, but it’s true:

It doesn’t matter what your house looks like.

You are already a temple of the Holiest of Holies.