I've had a hard time writing this summer. Maybe you could tell. People read this thing now and it can be scary. No, not throngs, I have no grand delusions there, but enough that it makes me think twice before posting, well, anything really.
Will someone be offended? Will it come out right? What about so-and-so who I know thinks differently? What about that person who will use whatever I write as ammunition to hurt me? Why would I write about that? What if it's too perfect looking? Too goofy? Too serious?
So I shut up. I post pictures of my kids and superficial thoughts from my days, memories I want to keep and store and would rather remember than the bleeding mess that is my heart lately.
Let's just not go there today.
Oh, it's not that I think people shouldn't write about the hard stuff or that I am necessarily afraid to admit my weaknesses and wounds. Lord knows I have enough. And I'm not afraid to tell all about it over a cup of coffee, at least, if I think it might help (and we got the trust thing going on). I just don't have the words lately. They somehow disappeared along with the time. The mediocre words that used to be there, even those have been stolen to the point of tears. And gosh, it smarts when you get a few squeaks out and someone uses your vulnerability against you. The theft repeats.
It's been a hard summer. A summer of questioning and struggle, a summer where it feels like I'm quite literally fighting a battle and where I can practically feel the scalpel on my heart scraping away at my attachments. At the very same time it's been a summer of hope and depth and relationships and love. I don't understand how it can be both ways but yet it is.
Through it all the whispers do their whispery whispering thing.
They invade every thought, every conversation, every relationship, every post, every prayer.
I cannot be enough.
I want to help, but I can't. I want to be included, but I don't fit. I want to share, but I'm shut down. I want to see, but I'm blinded. I want to succeed, but I fail. I want to celebrate, but I'm pulled right back down.
My heart aches for those who are suffering so much more than I ever will. What can I do?
The chorus repeats: Not enough.
I fall again into His arms and tell Him how much I know I am not enough.
I know it, Lord. Oh, I know it so hard.
And once again He reminds me. No, darling, no you're not.
I am Enough.
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