Like that one part, in the post I wrote on Friday, where I was all, “Yeah, you guys, I’ve got somethin’ important to say to the U.S. church! And God is gonna use me in the suburbs! And
blah, blah, blah, I have a purpose!”
I believed it when I said it. I
wrote it with confidence. …But five minutes later I found myself across from a
mirror and when I saw myself I remembered that I am so perfectly ordinary,
those things couldn’t possibly be true. Looking at my own face, a familiar
mantra crept into my head; a whisper I’ve heard a million times over, the mocking voice
of Doubt, arriving to ask me a question…
“Who do you think you are?”
It’s the same voice I hear when I
write…
Who
do you think you are? Do you think you’re a writer? Ha! Why would anyone
care what you have to say?!
It’s the same voice I hear when I
parent…
Who
do you think you are? Do you think they don’t see what a hypocrite you are?
Seriously. Why should they listen to you?!
It’s the same voice I hear when I
rest my head on my husband’s chest…
Who
do you think you are? Do you think you’re enough? Why should he even love
you?!
It followed me through the weekend,
that same small question, chipping away at my spirit - a pick-ax to my soul.
It ate away at my resolve to happily pack and sort and clean in preparation for
our next bold step. It tore at my faltering confidence with claws and teeth,
and I finally went to bed last night, defeated, with that sure but quiet voice
still resonating in my head…
Who
do you think you are… that God could use you?!
I woke at 3 am, reminded by the
impressive state of disarray in my bedroom that I’m moving in three weeks.
Reminded by dust bunnies the size of your face that I am an epically bad
housekeeper. Reminded by stacks of papers “to be filed” that I am insanely
disorganized. Reminded by this self-created chaos that I’m not cut out for much
of anything worth a damn. Reminded, indeed, that I’m kind of a loser.
In the dark, I asked God, “What am I
doing? Who do I think I am?!”
And His answer came to me, as it
always does, like a deep breath rising from within, to pour into the broken
places and shore up the weak spots. With a gentle revival, and a better
question, He answered me…
…Who do you think you aren’t?
Do
you think you aren’t a daughter of the Most High King?
You’re called to lean into the
talents I’ve given you, guide the children I’ve gifted you, love the husband
who cleaves to you, and rise up when I call you to rise.
No more. No less. The God who uses the
old, the weak, the whore, and the drunk, will use whom he sees fit to use. All you
have to do is show up.
So ask yourself, Baby Girl…
Who
do you think you aren’t?
.... ..... ....
It's a question for us all. Who do you think you aren't?
