When I began to write in this blog at 20 years of age, little did I know that I would 6 years later, live in Seattle. Do I work for the newspaper? no. Oh, then surely the news station? Uhm nope. I teach first grade. Wait what? I live in Seattle. I teach first grade. My husband and I live in Seattle. Husband.  +Seth Chomout is my husband. Six years ago, I would have said I was never getting married - six years ago, I begged God to teach me what it means to love - I of course, probably thought it would be comfortable and fun and like a huge engulfing hug - while in the same breath I would write deep, graphic poetry that displayed dirtiness and forgiveness and it meant something to me, but still, wasn't reality - I didn't understand it.

Here's the deal. I didn't find my identity in Christ. I found it in my writing. I found it in the fact that I liked cool indie music, that I wore vans and that I had a nose ring before it was cool. I found it in the fact that I loved everyone and they could sin all the want, but they were still loved by me! I didn't understand redemption fully. I didn't understand true repentance. I knew the words of the gospel, but I didn't know its power. I didn't know and understand GRACE. There came a point in my journey to find out what it means to love that I felt as if the world had grabbed my heart, taken a hammer and smashed it to bits. Friends. It SUCKED. 

If you click through the blog posts of Lara Chomout's (Johnson's) past, you'll see a tiny bit that hurt. You'll hear my tears dripping off the posts as I describe rocking back and forth in my tiny german closet sobbing. You'll hear me speaking through the prostitutes and the harlots of the bible and identifying with them - but do you really hear of the redemption of Christ? I stopped blogging. I stopped writing real posts, and instead I tried to ignore all thoughts and emotions. I couldn't identify what was going on in my heart, so instead I tried to put all my burdens on the shoulders of my sweet husband, instead of the shoulders of Christ, which is what he calls us to do. 

So, that's what I want to say to you today. I have been redeemed. When Christ looks at me, he calls me His and sees no blemish, no spot, he doesn't see a whore, a prostitute, a sinner - he sees perfection.. and I don't deserve that.  He carries my burdens. He picks up the pieces of my heart, dusts them off, places it back together. 

Guys, Sometimes I still wear my vans. I still listen to Page France, The Fruit Bats, Alexi Murdoch and Bishop Allen serenade me as I drive through the rainy weather of Seattle. But. that's not what people see when they look at me anymore. 

There is a fountain filled with blood
  Drawn from Immanuel's veins;
And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,
  Lose all their guilty stains:
And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,
  Lose all their guilty stains. 

The dying thief rejoiced to see
  That fountain in his day;
And there may I, though vile as he,
  Wash all my sins away:
And there may I, though vile as he,
  Wash all my sins away. 

Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood
  Shall never lose its power,
Till all the ransomed ones of God
  Be saved, to sin no more:
Till all the ransomed ones of God,
  Be saved to sin no more. 

E'er since by faith I saw the stream
  Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
  And shall be till I die:
Redeeming love has been my theme,
  And shall be till I die. 

When this poor lisping, stammering tongue
  Lies silent in the grave,
Then in a nobler, sweeter song,
  I'll sing Thy power to save:
Then in a nobler, sweeter song,
  I'll sing Thy power to save.