It’s hard for me to write on Fridays.
I always feel a little spent, a little crumpled, a little used up.
And rightly so.
On Thursday nights, I circle up with a group of ladies and we shirk off a week’s worth of junk and clothe ourselves in humility and bravery and we talk about heart stuff.
Sometimes we laugh.
And always we cry.
And usually, long after they’ve gone home, as I stack dirty dishes in the sink, I find myself no longer clothed in bravery or humility.
Only the fear of not being loved.
Last night was no different.
The house was empty by 9, much earlier than usual, and so I went to work, setting the house right.
I cleared the table and gathered the tablecloth to be laundered. I walked through the house and blew out the candles. I put away coffee creamer and cleaned the coffee urn and then simply turned out the lights. I left the sink full of dirty dishes.
I climbed the stairs to dress the children for bed and then tuck them in, something I rarely do. Bedtime is like short order cooking around here, fast and furious.
But last night, swallowed up by a deep need to touch the people who love me, I climbed those stairs and made the rounds and looked long into their faces.
I wanted to feel loved.
I needed to feel loved.
I felt utterly wrapped up in my own humanity, if that makes any kind of sense, and I was struck with the truth that I have some pretty big soul holes.
Holes that I’ve been looking to my sheep, my church, to fill.
To be loved.
To be wanted.
To be known.
To be understood.
To just be liked.
These holes are more deep than wide. (I really hate to tell you that, but it’s the truth and the truth will set me free. Right?)
And y’all, my sheep can’t fill my holes. They weren’t made to and I know that. I’ve known that.
But Satan would like to convince me that they can. Or that they even should.
Some days, I believe the lie.
And my feelings get hurt.
But then there are other days, when I put my trust in my Shepherd, and I let Him fill my soul holes.
Funny thing is, He fills them quite nicely.
Am I going to forget that Jesus wants to fill all of my empty spaces?
Am I going to get my feelings hurt?
And I going to feel like hiding out and holing up and preserving self?
Yep. Probably next Thursday. Maybe later today.
But today and tomorrow and the next day, I have to choose to wage war against my flesh, the part of me that rises up and screams for people to fill me.
And I have to let Jesus fill me.
Every. Single. Day.
Because my community, my sheep, need me to be full.
And so do I.