I have those moments.
Sometimes I feel like I am never going to be enough.
It's in those days, those moments, when I just want to curl up in a hole and go to sleep. It's those moments when I can completely relate to those who have decided that life is just too much...
Suicide always hurts those who are left behind, but I will never be one who condemns the one who did it or be one who says I can't believe they did that? I will not be one who says that they could not have been a Christian and done that. Because I am fully aware of the weakness of my own flesh. I am fully aware of the weight of the condemnation and oppression of the enemy of my soul. I am fully aware that if I did not have this hope that is the anchor of my soul, this hope that is sure and steadfast and enters within the veil (Heb 6:19), in a moment of physical exhaustion, emotional havoc, and spiritual oppression, this could easily be me. The spirit is willing but the flesh is indeed weak (Matt 26:41).
I am a believer. I know that to live is Christ and to die is gain (Phil 1:21). I know that it is not I that live but Christ that lives in me and the life that I live, I live by faith in Him (Gal 2:20). I know all this. I believe all this. I know how the burden of life can overwhelm me at times, and me with this knowledge, with this Hope, how could it not overwhelm someone who doesn't or even someone who doesn't know how to live their faith because they have not been discipled?
I was overwhelmed yesterday. It began last week and when I thought it would be over it wasn't. It just continued on. Carried over by the weakness of this flesh of mine. Weak in so many ways. Weak because it is physically off. An infection leading to an antibiotic that has not set well with my stomach leaving me nauseous since Saturday night. A constant dull headache due to hopefully just allergies. And then a tired flesh from not sleeping at night because of all the other issues. Then after going to the bathroom for the third time to apply rubbing alcohol to another sore blemish on my face, I am reminded that yes, it is also hell week.
You see I should have been ready. Have I not been here a million plus times?
Yesterday, I actually ended up in the laundry room crying as I frustratedly swapped out the laundry and let God know how disappointed I was at Him because I felt like He was throwing me under the bus. You see my hurt, my frustration, had been rooted from comments that came as a result of failing at somethings I am trying so hard to be better in. It's not something I am ignoring, but something I am purposely trying to improve. I was angry, hurt, and upset at myself, at those that called me out, and yes at God for not covering my failure and instead exposing it.
I hate messing up. It's the perfectionist in me. It is indeed a curse, because I am not perfect, but I want to be, no actually, I am driven to be. Somehow in my emotional DNA perfection = pleasing, but that is not what God says. God says faith = pleasing.
"And without faith it is impossible to please Him,
for he who comes to God must believe that He is
that He is a rewarder of those who seek Him."
Yes, I was disappointed in God, and letting Him know it. It sounds absolutely ridiculous now, but at that time I felt completely justified in my complaint. The amazing thing is my God patiently listened. He did not strike me with a lightning bolt. He was just still and let me rant. And by the end of the day God had reminded me of His love. He had calmed my personal storm.
This days moment reminded me of that song with the lyric that says, "please don't fight these hands that are holding you"
Oh God, thank you for being mindful that I am but flesh.
"For He Himself knows our frame;
He is mindful that we are but dust."