When it comes right down to it, there's this little voice in my heart of hearts that says I'm not good enough. Do you know the one? It nitpicks and nags and sees all your flaws. I'm pretty sure everyone has it.
My little voice goes deep down and says I'm not lovable. It says my life is a mess and if I would just get things together, maybe, maybe I'd have a chance; but there's just so mind-boggling crushing much to get in order that I know I'll never there.
Deep down, I'm really just a child. I want someone to say that I'm pretty and that the music I make and the stories I write makes everyone who hears them happier. I want someone to say that my existence, which so often feels unjustified, isn't just allowable but desired.
I spend every day trying to pretend that I'm not just a child. That inside, I'm grown-up. Some of this is because I'm 23 while the average age of my friends is 40. Some of this is because I know that I have these basic needs--to be lovable--and the very voice that wants to hear that question answered is also telling me that it's a stupid question.
There are no stupid questions in God's big adopted family. Adopted kids like me have nothing to fear: we can ask anything. There are no adults, either. All the childish questions, the questions evoked from our childhood, the questions that since our childhood have gone unanswered--those questions aren't silenced in God's family. They're answered.
Daily. On repeat. But sometimes I don't hear it. Or the wrong part of me hears it.
Instead of the over-confident, I-don't-need-you part of me hearing God, I need to listen in with my real self, the vulnerable part of me that has questions that need answering. Then instead of having a surface relationship with God where we say, "Hi, how are you, you're awesome," and walk away without believing a word, we can go deep. When he says, "I love you, Liz, and your stories make me laugh; I loved the one you wrote the other day," I'll believe him. It'll sink down deep where I need to hear it and affect my whole day, maybe my whole week.
Okay, probably just my day. Tomorrow I'll wake up with the same questions because that's how I am: needy. I never get enough of God's love. I'm like the black hole of need, and that's okay, because God's got enough for that. He's not needy, so he can handle needy people, unlike the rest of us--gosh, don't needy people suck you dry? Not God. Jesus says it's out of his abundance that he gives and keeps on giving. Thank goodness.
I never stop being a kid inside. I never stop wondering if I'm beautiful. But everyday God answers me. I just need to listen. With the real part of me.
Daily. On repeat.
Word count: 497.