I have sat down to write this blog post three different times, and y’all, I’ve been utterly unsuccessful at piecing words together into a cool package this time. So I’m offering to you these three incomplete ideas today, in hopes that something in them will touch or spark or inspire or provoke something in you.
I am so aware in this season of all my weak places. My brokenness. My limits.
I’m aware of my physical weakness. My continual struggle with headaches and the way the pain limits my ability to “perform” as a mom, a wife, a friend.
My creative, introverted, introspective heart, and how my resulting need for silence and space limits my capacity to be busy, to be on the go. My capacity to measure up to the expectations and desires of those in my real life world.
I so feel all the ways in which I don’t measure up. I speak to my son more harshly than I should. I fail to deeply connect with my husband’s heart. I fail to respond to messages from friends. I lack the “right” words to whisper into painful situations.
Inadequate. That’s it. I feel so doggone aware of my inadequacy these days, and looking at all my weakness from outside the scope of the Gospel’s power, my failures add up to an overwhelming mountain. An avalanche of not-enough-ness. The distance feels so great — this gap between where I want to be in terms of physical health and emotional wholeness and maturity in the Lord, and where I am now.
But all this acute awareness of my incomplete, imperfect, immature places — it doesn’t feel like condemnation or beating myself up. It feels like gut-level honesty with myself before the Lord. And it’s good. It’s the raw ache of awareness of my need for Him.
I so long for the Lord to sell our house. We’ve had showings, and I know it only takes one buyer, but that person has not materialized yet.
There’s this weird mix these days of tangible grace for this season because we’re choosing to stay present and tuned into Jesus in the midst of it; and this growing, pounding sense that our time here in inner city Kansas City is UP.
The degree to which I do not want to be raising our children in this neighborhood is high. The degree to which God is asking us to wholeheartedly live and love here while we wait is equally high.
The tension is real and thick and painful. The grace is just as real, just as thick, and matches the pain most of the time so I feel like I’m living in this strange grace-bubble of mostly-okayness and peace in the midst of this deep unmet longing.
Right alongside the acute awareness of my weakness and the tension of living in a place our hearts no longer want to be, this cry rises over and over again to the surface of my heart:
Just let me love you well in this crazy tension. Let me love you well in my weakness. Let love for you ooze out of all my cracks and gaps and my utter inadequacy. Right here in the middle of all that’s not yet fulfilled, let my heart bleed with holy, broken, unrestrained, undignified love.
The awareness of my weakness — He asks me to press all of it into His heart and let Him love me right here, right where I can do nothing to earn or perform.
The longing to be in Colorado — He invites me to trust Him, to stay present and open, to let my life in this place move to the beat of His heart.
I so want to respond to Him wholeheartedly.
If I could give physical expression to the state of my heart these days, I’d live my life facedown on the floor. Aching. Surrendering. Loving Him wild and weeping like no one’s watching.
And there’s something about simply, fiercely adoring Him from this spot on the floor of my imperfection and my unfulfilled desires and unanswered questions… that is becoming one of the absolute sweetest, most profound experiences of God’s heart that I’ve ever had.
PS. I love y’all dearly and treasure your receiving of my words, of my heart. I can never thank you enough for the way you walk beside me here.
PPS. Linking up with the lovely Kelli at Unforced Rhythms.