It’s 5:30 in the morning again. I am awake with no lingering effects of sleep hanging about. I only wish I were tired enough to want to go back to sleep. I lie still, contemplating, as no one else in the house has yet to stir. I know how I adore my time to myself, especially if that time happens to be in the morning. I lift myself out of bed and meander to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. It’s been awhile since I have been able to sit with God, pencil and pad, and quiet for a good amount of time.
I know I need to be writing. I’ve known it for a long time and yet I have done nothing to quench this ever pressing desire. As words draw from my pencil I realize how naturally this act has always come to me. This motion of stirring to life all the parts of myself kept in restraints. I pour out all of the thoughts and emotions flooding my being in this moment and the moments already lived. This is how I deal. How I deal with myself, how I deal with the happenings of life. I let all of myself come into the light and expose every woven flaw.
Now, whether it be in the immediate moments following or days later, I can look over my words and see myself from afar. Some of what I have written through makes hardly any sense, especially when I have written out of hurt and anger. Other times, it is rambling about this or that, shouting, crying, praising through feelings. When I see these unfoldings I am able to analyze my true self on a whole different level.
I let out the anger that can well up inside of my every bone and tendon. I can let loose of the instances of consuming desire to be more. I can work through all of the listless emotions, some of which are downright suffocating. I can shout through words of thankfulness of God’s grace when I never deserved it, and I can see the unending hope He never ceases to bestow upon my heart in the cloudiest of days.
I learn to see where growth is called for, where things needed to be worked through and let go of, and where ponderings needed to be brought to life. Then I come to realize I see bits of brokenness. Let me be honest in saying, of course sometimes (a lot of times) I use this to feel self-conscious and lowly, but I do my best to not hang onto those feelings.
I reach a point where I know I can accept my brokenness, for it means much more than what meets the surface. My brokenness often sheds a faint light on another quality of mine, perseverance. But how do I preserve knowing I will continue to confront this reality of imperfection? Those moments of being broken show I can not do this on my own. Those moments show I persevere because I know Christ. He takes those cracks in my character and He bonds them together with grace.
I remember what Paul recollected in 2 Corinthians 12:9-10.
But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
It does not take strength to receive grace, but through the strength of Christ grace is given. Though I am broken I can forgive, I can love, I can share hope, I can gift the grace given to me. Christ shows me how to do these very things by imparting them upon me in my weaknesses. He does not ask me to obtain perfection to be deserving, instead, He assures me His grace is enough for all of my frailty. I cannot be all, and all efforts to be so are lost. I can, however, trust in the Almighty to be all that I am not.