I have been reading One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp with a wonderful group of ladies and I am really enjoying it. I love the prose style that she writes in, so as a tribute I thought I would show you what my writing style is like when I am not working so hard to be concise and coherent.
Some days it is easier to get held down in my failure, to give in to the incompetence, and chalk it all up as lost. Failed. Human. Incapable of the task. I forget that it isn’t about me and my ability. I forget that I was not made to accomplish glory on my own. So I lose myself in the long list of my short-comings and bemoan my poor children’s luck. Back luck in genetics (they never had a chance with my genes). I take the blame. I swallow the lie and Satan reels me in. Not good enough. Not faithful enough. Not enough. It sits in my stomach and festers. The lie of self; independence.
But I am not self-sufficient. I do not need to claim independence as my mantra. I am dependent on God. I was made incomplete. I was made insufficient in patience, mercy, and knowledge. I will not ever be wise enough on my own power.
Strangely, the truth is harder to swallow than the lie. I am tentative to taste it. I even choke a bit as it slides down my throat; my body’s natural reaction of rejection. But it soothes my stomach as it settles into me. The truth is calming. This is a center. It gives me a new focal point for balancing my life. Stop focusing on myself and focus on Him. I am not the center.
I am exactly as God made me to be. I can not do this without Him. The truth that I am not good enough is a release. I can let go of guilt, luck, pity, insecurities, shame. I can continue knowing that I will fall, but never fail. Falling will only bring me to my knees. I can risk giving because I know the truth. My role is to partner with God; to ask, and listen, and receive.
I can risk loving and trying because I know God is capable of anything, even using me to raise these wonderful children.
And a poem I wrote for my mom when my eldest was about a year old.
This is a whole new kind of love.
It is unlike any other type of love I have ever felt.
And how do I express this love to her?
How can I impress upon her young mind the depth and height of my love?
The words, as of yet, hold no tangible meaning to her
My gifts, my sacrifices she cannot yet appreciate.
Somehow, in the depths of her nature, she knows.
She desires my smiles, hangs on my words, and revels in my physical presence.
One day I will hold her close and whisper to her that I love her so much I would do anything for her.
And she will still not grasp the entirety of my love.
She will only understand when one day she holds her own child tightly in her arms.
Thank you Mom, I think I am beginning to understand.