I haven't made a self portrait in many moons.
This is me.
21 weeks pregnant.
Braver and more frightened than I've ever been.
Stronger and weaker than I've ever been.
I don't know what the point of this is except to say that this is the neediest I've ever been.
This is me still struggling to find the joy in life.
The LIFE in life.
Not because life isn't good. No. Because I'm not.
I'm not good.
I'm not ok.
I'm my own worst enemy.
I'm a pessimist.
A coveter.
A comparer.
I'm a lie believer.
A truth suppressor.
Why is it that knowing that a lie is a lie doesn't stop me from believing it?
Why is the fight for truth and tranquility so hard? So constant?
Why don't I feel motivated to fight that fight?
I guess this is a prayer.
A desperate plea from an unspeakably needy, broken, miserable mess of a human being for Help to do what I can't do.
REMAKE ME.
Create in me a clean heart, oh God.
Give me a desire that I do not have.
A desire to see and savor You.
Let the bones that You have broken rejoice in You again.
I won't rest until You have done what You promised.
I won't stop fighting until You have completely satisfied me in Yourself.
Only give me strength for the fight.
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