Lack

How can I possibly ever get it right, if I’m always doing it wrong?

I get so frustrated with myself. My lack.

All I want is this, this one thing.

This way of sitting and writing and expressing and I lack in sitting.

I speak all day in my head. Have grand ideas on things to say and express them to myself all day.

Then they get lost.

In the recesses of my mind. So far back, gone forever.

And I am ashamed. So much time passes between passages and it’s in the lacking that I reprimand myself.

I don’t reprimand and fix.

I reprimand and move on. The lesson not having been learned.

I search and search for inspiration and truthfully it’s all here.

Right here in this head of mine.

In my prayers.

Written across pages of years of journaling.

In my head at night, upon waking and throughout the day.

I get so ashamed that I don’t compare.

But to who? Who am I to compare to?

I am me.

That’s all God made me as.

Just me.

Then I turn the other cheek and I dive deep into this hole of judgements;

not good enough

don’t add up

too old

no one will get it

boring

written before

get on with yourself

And so I do.

I get on.

Searching for inspiration in posts, books, old letters, postcards, my child’s face, my husbands stories, my past and it’s all right here, isn’t it?

Just inside of me.

Who care’s if no one listen’s.

God is.

He matters.

And when I write the words in His presence I am lifted.

I journey higher.

I feel His embrace.

It’s always all for Him.

None of this is for me.

As life is not for me.

It is to sing His praises.

Bring glory to His name.