I really want to tell you what a wreck I am.
I want to tell you that I am scared. That I worry too much. That I doubt. That I fear stupid things that I shouldn’t. That I second guess nearly every decision that I ever make. I wonder all day, every single day if I am a good enough mother and wife-if I am living in somewhat of the right balance between my family life and my work life.
I want to tell you that I watch too much Netflix and that my kids watch too much TV. I want to tell you that I fight the demon called “contentment” pretty much constantly…always looking around and thinking that I need more. I look around at the life that I have been given-my family and our “things” and think that maybe I should/deserve one more thing. Just one more.
I am afraid of failing. In truth fear is about 127% of why I haven’t finished any of the six novels that I have started to write. Because then, if I finish them, I’ll have to share them with the world. And if I do that, I may be rejected. And if I am rejected, then where does that leave me? I want to own the fact that I was voted Most Likely to Succeed my senior year of High School, and there is a part of me that wonders every single day if their version of success would consider me having lived up to that.
I want to shout to the world that I despise hatefulness and ugliness.
I am absolutely nauseated by the sheer ugliness of the world. The rudeness and the hatefulness and the prejudice and the racism and the judgement. But…at the same time, when those thoughts start to swim and I start to get irritated and upset by it, I am reminded that it isn’t my place to judge. That the Lord said Vengeance is mine. Not Courtney’s. Not my husband’s. Not anyones. HIS. Judgement is HIS. So even when I don’t agree with the negativity some people give off…I am called to love them anyway.
I want people to understand…all people…to just get that I am a wreck. That I am not any better than any of you. That I fight with my husband. I yell at my kids. I cuss more than I want to. I don’t cook dinner very often. I drink a lot of coffee (four+ cups a day usually). I sometimes put my job over my family, even though I love the latter more than what I do. I say things that I don’t mean. I’ve thought about cheating on my husband; and even about leaving him because things just got hard. I have contemplate suicide before because there just didn’t seem to be any reason to keep going.
All of that to say that I cry out to Jesus, because I am an absolute wreck without him.
I wake up some mornings and my to-do list, mixed with the obligations and the responsibilities and the life around me are just too much and I want to go back to bed. Not out of depression or sadness, but just out of exhaustion from doing the adult-ing and the life-living thing.
I don’t hide behind my religion. I don’t even believe in religion. I hold to the only thing…the only person…in my life who has never let me down. The only person in my life who sees me in all of my mess and just loves and accepts me anyway. The one person who doesn’t wake up cranky; who doesn’t tell me I’m a failure when I don’t live up to their expectations; the one person who doesn’t ridicule my choices and hold a grudge when I don’t do what they think that I should because I am a person with my own set of convictions.
I don’t quote scripture or share pictures of my quiet times to hide who I am. I don’t share anything on social media for attention or praise. I share what I share because people are hurting. People are running from the gospel because of the ugliness. People are losing faith because they are feeling hatred and judgement. I don’t care who you are. I don’t care what you’ve done. I’ve made my mistakes and I’ve done my share of stupid things. I’m still learning. I’m not perfect. I have a long way to go and I’ll never be who I want to be this side of eternity.
I share what I share because I want people to know what Jesus has done for me. What he’s taught/is teaching me. What he’s saved me from and brought me out of.
People say that Jesus is a crutch for the weak.
They couldn’t be more wrong. I am so broken…so messy…he’s more than a crutch.