Morning wakes slow and lazy and the coffee, it perks slow and lazy, too.
I lean into the the same space of counter that I leaned into on Saturday and I remember his arm across my shoulders, the way he pulled me close into him.
“I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing and yet, I’m still doing it,” I’d said when he’d asked about my early morning meeting. “I feel like my brain is in a fog and the words that come out of my mouth make no sense. It’s like I’m not really here or there. And I feel like a dork. A total dork.”
He’d stood next to me at the sink with his cup of coffee and I remember feeling his body smile though I’d not let my eyes meet his. I’d been washing the dishes and wiping away crumbs and trying to find myself in the mundane when he’d come in to chat.
“I think that’s how you’re supposed to feel. You’re supposed to feel like you can’t do it,” he’d said. “Let Jesus do it. You’re right where you’re supposed to be- right in the middle of your weakness.”
I’d never turned around to invite more of his words, but in the morning while I watch the coffee perk, his words are all I think about.
I sit in the middle of the afternoon slump, that space between lunch and afternoon snack, where minutes drag by and dishes stack and the last bit of school work unravels the kids into piles of tears.
I’m there with them in the unraveling, but my unraveling comes not in tears.
It comes in a heart that beats wildly and flushed cheeks and shortness of words and I am desperate for Christ.
I am a tattered rag of a woman, held together by anxiety and fear and incompetence, trying to stuff my limp into my torn pocket, hoping no one sees how or where I falter.
But y’all see me.
You see me because I choose to write it here and because I’m no good at faking it and because I am compelled to use words to suffocate the shame that tries to creep in when I’m silent.
Shame kills a life and I’m not aiming to go out eaten alive by shame,
Or fear of failure,
Or getting it wrong, whatever it may be.
I’m aiming to go out in a blaze of limping glory.
And I pray you join me.
* Bottom art by Tanner Brice– a high school senior who serves our little church plant and someone I think is quite special. Actually, she’s amazing. And I bet if you’d like your own IF God is real then… piece of art she’d love to make one for you.