It’s not about my striving to please others to feel worthy.

Or being used and abandoned.

Or shutting down and giving up.

Or letting a weak, insignificant, ugly, scared imposter live in my body.

Or believing if i can just look good enough on the outside I will be okay.

Or the death of my Mom and of my marriage.

Or building walls around my heart so that I could never be hurt by God or people again.

Or losing ten years behind thick walls of safety after deep loss

Or striving for perfection and control and the facade of strength this holds.

Or being a master of hiding, running and numbing.

Or the fact that I cannot say that I’m a model for fear that others will laugh at me saying I am unworthy--an imposter walking the runway.   

Or how behind closed doors I scramble and strive in a desperate attempt to be beautiful and perfect

Or arthritis and how it has stolen my identity

It's not even about…

The resurrection of relationships.

Or His relentless pursuit of my whole heart.

Or Him showing me visions of Jesus, head in hands weeping as my Mom was dying, which screamed of His kindness that I didn’t even know existed.

Or the revelation that beauty can be found in the redemption of pain, that we can walk away strangely thankful for its occurrence in our lives.

Or how we are refined as gold, constantly under His protection.

Or how He has made me a writer and given me glimpses of a brave God-Warrior that is the real me.

IT’S ABOUT GOD

As He’s been liberating me from the bondage that’s been my life, He’s been continually whispering,

“Seek me. Worship me. Know me.” 

Everything else is periphery. Even the good. I long to be used by God just as my soul thirsts to be creative and purposeful but He has shown me, that if I will concentrate all of me on all of Him, He will do everything else.  Rest is worshipping God simply because He is God. The more I seek His face, the more clearly I begin to see myself as He sees me. May God’s goodness, grace and healing power overflow into my life that I may point others to the very apex of hope: Jesus.

First published in Second Stories Vol. 1