we are so fragileI had one of those awful, frustrating days today, where nothing is wrong and nothing is right. It wasn't a bad day on the wards; I wasn't even working since, in a rare twist of fate, my weekend off actually coincides with a real Saturday and Sunday. I just felt absolutely, entirely too small for what I'm doing here, too stupid to make a difference, too broken to do any good.
and our cracking ribs make noise
and we are just
breakable
breakable
breakable
girls and boys
It's an old fear of mine, this feeling of not-enough. I've struggled with it my entire life, for reasons that even I don't understand. Call it culture, call it teen angst that never quite went away, call it any of a million names, but the truth remains that I believe lies about myself. Instead of seeing myself as a child of God, cast in a divine mold, I stare at my face in the mirror and see only what I lack. Beauty, brains, charisma; I've been shortchanged in every department. (At least, that's what I tell myself.)
Some days are better than others. Some days I can rest confident in the knowledge that God made me, and He don't make no junk, a saying that I had printed in every colour of the rainbow on a t-shirt I used to wear as a child. But the bad days? They're no joke. They're the days that make me retreat into myself, turning over all my past failings and sins and shortcomings, holding each dark secret to the light and hating myself all over again for things I had thought were forgiven.
It all came to a head during our Sunday evening service. We were getting ready for communion, and the bread and wine lay covered with a clean white cloth on the table as I fought with myself during worship. You know you can't take communion tonight. You're not allowed if there's something between you and God. And, holy cow, is there ever a lot between you two. Don't try to fool anyone. You'll never be good enough.
When the speaker started outlining the form of the Trinity, listing characteristics of each facet of my God, I started to cry. Just turn to the person next to you, tell them which part you need the most tonight, as I rubbed my eyes and hung my head and ever-so-quietly admitted.
Forgiveness.
Comfort.
Truth.
And while the man in the front of the room held up the round loaf, tore it in half and repeated the age-old request to do this to remember, I sat in my seat, paralyzed with fear. Because I knew I didn't deserve it, that I wasn't allowed to join in the ritual without a clean heart, and that my heart was just about as full of pain and lies and ugliness as I've ever known it to be.
Until God, sitting next to me in a form that looked strangely like my husband's, took my hand and whispered in my ear.
You're more than enough.
Back in August of 2008 you met my wife and little boy Matthew when they came to Mercy ship. I was looking at some old e-mails and saw the one you sent me that included the first pictures I ever saw of Matthew. In the e-mail you mentioned your blog so I went looking for it tonight and found it. I was pleasantly surprised to see you'd written about Cathi and Matthew. I enjoyed reading what you wrote.
Matthew will be a year old on August 16th. He's had his lip repaired but still is awaiting the pallete getting fixed. It turns out he was profoundly deaf too. He gets Cochlear implants after his first birthday
He's a wonderful little boy and a real blessing to Cathi and I.
I see in some of your writing that you sometimes get overwhelmed by all the suffering you see. I'm impressed that you have been able to stick with it.
If it helps, know that one little boy is thriving and that you helped at a time when Cathi and Matthew really needed it.
If you want, you can see Matthew's new smile on his caringbridge site.
http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/matthewjohnson5
Thanks again for what you did for Cathi and Matthew back in August.
Dan Johnson
(husbands are a special gift from God)
Ps 71:23
"My lips will shout for joy when I sing praise to you- I, whom you have redeemed.
(will you tell me to go read this the next time I have one of these days?)
I stumbled upon your blog today and it's like a drink of cold water on a hot Alabama (or Africa!) summer afternoon. This post literally brought me to unexpected tears. It's like you defined in me what I couldn't verbally speak myself, but the apparently common fear of not being "enough" seems to plague us all. Stupid Satan. Thank you for being so open and vulnerable; it's an inspiration. Be blessed, my friend.
Meredith