I look at myself and I don't like what I see. I see a collection of incompletion, an
assortment of almost, and a wealth of what if.
I don't like it, but I keep looking, like a novice
baker constantly checking the cake in the oven. But each time I look I still
haven't risen. I'm still in the valley. Still struggling to climb out of my
personal pitfalls, but the walls have no grips and I watch myself slip again
and again.
You see, my discontent whispers to me in the quiet
times. And yes, it’s mine. I created it by wanting everything other than what I
have. Not that wanting is bad. But I'm finding fault with what I hold in my
hand and looking with longing eyes at what you hold in yours.
This discontent feeds on what I see and twists the
truth that God's grace is sufficient for me. And it’s getting so heavy. The
whispers become shouts and the weight of my wants bears down on me. Yet still I
don't look away. I watch, and say if only.
If only I hadn't wasted so much time. If only I
could have been more like them. If only
I had been born with this talent. If only I could have been richer, or smarter,
or stronger, or prettier. If only I could have been something other than what I
am. Then I would have been a better person. Then I would have been a better
sister. Then I would have been a better mother, a better wife, a better friend,
a better servant. Then I would have been a better minister.
My eyes stay trained on this unreality show as if I
know exactly what I could have done to have reached my destiny by now; as if I
could have figured out a way to circumvent God's process somehow. Because
sometimes I'm farsighted; I can see the end, the reward of what God promised
me. But in my nearsightedness I lose hope and stumble in faith because my now
does not resemble my later.
The waiting is frustrating my anointing. And I see
my life like a 3D image without glasses: God's promise overlapping my present.
Truth warring with reality. This duality causing my head and my heart to ache
until I just can't take it anymore. I cry and I cry out. And a small voice
undercuts the shouts and tells me to close my eyes. And because my sight and God's vision will always
be in opposition, I made the decision to listen to that voice and stop living
by sight.
Because my eyesight is faulty, and though what I see
is in front of me, it isn't really there.
Reality tells me that I should have succeeded by now. That the battle
I'm fighting and the struggle I'm hiding should not exist within this holy life
I'm living.
Reality insists that my
brokenness must be glazed over with laid hair and a beat face so there's no
trace of my pain. Because if you can't see
me hurt, then the hurt doesn't exist.
Reality says I must perpetuate this.
But there’s a difference between truth and reality. Just because it's real doesn't mean it's
true, and sometimes, knowing this is the only way to get through.
The truth is my struggle means I am still standing.
I am still fighting.
The truth is my struggle means I am not defeated.
The truth is God sees my messed up make up
for what it really is: a cry of desperation for his presence.
The truth is my brokenness lets His Light
shine through.
The truth is my brokenness makes me beautiful.
The truth is even though the pain may bring
me to my knees it brings me closer to His Face and that is the perfect place
for me to be.
The truth is my pain will
pull a perfect praise from my lips.
The truth is my worship is born from this
warfare.
The truth is you are right where you are supposed to be. So stop
living by what you see.
Trade your sight for His vision. It will be the best
decision you ever make.
