Standing at the kitchen sink, elbow deep in suds and greasy water I thought it over and over. The thoughts that she, the lanky blond is more than me. I thought about my immature reaction and how I wanted to do it over again and if I couldn't do it over I wanted to crawl under a rock. Shame. Shame and insecurity fed by the replaying of the past.
I thought that when you grow up you some how grow into your own skin, your own story. You grow out of your own awkwardness, and quirks become endearing. I thought that jealousy is something easily left behind. I thought that maturing means you automatically never measure, never measure your own spirituality against another's. Never measure your appeal or lovability or ability against another's.
Yeah, and there are those people that tell you "just give it to Jesus" And you want to nod and hand them your want to be validated, hand them all the energy spent on proving yourself but all you can do is tell your face not to scrunch too much when you shrug your shoulders and ask "how?"
How do you let potent words pass through your ears without leaving pin pricks that leak insecurity from your mind right into your very heart.
How do you live with humanity as human and let go of the want to be validated and approved of and accepted?
Fear comes in all shapes and sizes I guess, it tells us the palatable lie that God's love ends. Weakens. Becomes board.
Fear calls us to convince the world we are worthy. Shame whispers softly for us to come and hide behind man's praise. Fear makes me want to be seen but not known. Shame wants achievements and hurts and angers to be validated but not exposed.
Yeah, and I ask Jesus if he will ever make my identity stick? How long will I walk away from conversations or achievements or terrible reactions and have to repeat ask for re-affirmation that I was a city forsaken my name was not your people but now my name is His delight is in me.
How long can one persons words rock my world?
Then You sit me down to read and remind me there is more to re-affirm more to re-consider.
The girl in the story- the girl who had "weak eyes" who was nothing to look at. I want to stand and shout when I see what she says. I want to go find her in history and nodding a hard "YES!" to her when she names her babies.Names her babies with names that declare how she thinks her insecurities have been taken care of. And after it's all said and done and Jacob doesn't see her, doesn't love her, doesn't hear her. This sweet Leah, this girl whose going to birth a nation- she holds her last baby boy and she says it "now my heart will praise the LORD."
Me too, Leah. This heart that forgets how safe it is, this heart will praise the Lord too. This heart that longs to have its thoughts and achievements and words validated it will repeat Christ's victory.
Sitting alone on my floor I name them out loud; the things to praise God for.
And I do it when I'm pulling apart chicken-God created tiny bones that fit into the perfect frame. So tiny so intricate.
And I do it when I pass lush colors of spring flowers.
And I can't hardly stay in my car seat when the cd repeats that you have given hope and peace and rest.
And I watch in the morning as the sun gets up. Never, never , never let me take for granted that a ball of fire is held in orbit to give light to the day.
I think of how praise worthy You are and I am not fighting to prove my worth.
And I think of Joseph and Esther and how You worked craziness for gospel proclamation.
So this year has been the-year-of-no-fear, but really it is becoming the-year-of-true-fear through worship.
