We all deserve death, but we don’t deserve to live in fear and shame. My greatest fear is to be inconsequential. I want my life to matter. I need to contribute something to someone. Helping out in some small way or another is my greatest goal. My greatest source of shame is feeling as though I don’t matter. Everyone can get along just fine without me and anytime I try to help out, I end up making more of a mess for someone else to have to clean up behind me. These are my greatest deterrents and my greatest motivators. Most of my life has been spent trying to prove to others that I deserve to exist, but I’m not able to convince anyone else of something I don’t even believe myself. I’m a talented, kind, beautiful individual. The world is a better place with me in it. I share my love and shine my light everywhere I go on everyone I meet. It’s okay if I fail at everything else. I don’t need to measure up to anyone else’s arbitrary standard. I get to decide what is important in my life, and no one else has to get it. No one else has to understand what I want or agree with how I feel. I don’t have to allow fear and shame to rule me. I get to decide how to live my life, and I choose to live with peace and joy.

Falling from heaven, the me I constructed from glitter and Paper Mache, torn into pieces, destruction releases me to be who I am today. The games and the pretense never made any sense, but I tried to fit to the mold, to meet expectations, to greet celebrations. Now, I’m tired of doing what I’m told. I’m coming full circle, back to where I started, but I’m a bit wiser this time. I’m changing direction, not reaching perfection, but I’m gonna take what is mine. I’m breaking the frame. I’m walking away. I’ve gotta find what else I need. I’m jumping the track and not looking back. Don’t tell me who I’m supposed to be. I’ve gotta be free, free to be me. I’m building a new life upon the remains of the shattered pieces; I’m breaking the frame.

Everything within me yearns for something more. Never enough. I’m never enough. I can never be good enough. I can never be smart enough. I’m not talented, skilled, athletic, or special enough. No matter where I turn, there’s always someone better than me. No matter what I do, someone else has already done it better than me. Someone else is funnier. Someone else is smarter. Someone else is more influential. Someone else is more qualified. What is so wrong with me that there always has to be something wrong with me? Who did I give permission to pronounce failure over my life? Who decides what is required for me to be good enough? I need to know so I can find them and smack them around a little. Me? I have permission to pronounce success over my life? I get to decide what qualifies me to be good enough? I can do what I love and go after my dreams because the desires of my heart add value to others? Me? I don’t have to be perfect? I don’t have to be better? I just need to be me? I can do that. I can be me better than anyone else ever.

Just this, just like this, there’s nothing more; there’s no list. Just this, you just want this, a broken form in my humanness, just this. In spite of thinning hair and lines around my eyes, a crooked chin and nose, and cellulite upon my thighs, you look at me and smile at the beauty you have made. I’m frozen in awe; I’m confused and amazed. If only you knew all about the horrid things I’ve done, mistakes I have made, how damaged I’ve become, you’d have to turn away. You couldn’t bear my sin. I’ve fallen so far; I wouldn’t know where to begin. Still, you look at me and smile at the beauty you have made. I’m frozen in awe; I’m confused and amazed. Just this, just like this, there’s nothing more; there’s no list. Just this, you just want this, a broken form in my humanness. I’m already forgiven. I’m already set free. You just want me to love as you have loved me. I’m frozen in awe; I’m confused and amazed as you look at me and smile at the beauty you have made.

Be careful. Little ears overhear. Innocent little hearts form in fear. For the words spoke over them scar them somewhere deep within. So, be careful. Little ears overhear. It’s easy to forget how powerful our words can be. When we’re angry, when we’re hurt, we tend to release careless words, and there’s no way to take them back. There’s no undo button in the brain. We can overwrite negative messages from the past if we’re persistent and intentional about it, but we first have to recognize them for what they are. These old recordings blast through our bodies whenever someone pushes the play button, and we habitually play along because that’s just what we do. It’s our normal. We often don’t even recognize what has happened until after the fact, once it’s too late to process or to make a conscious decision. It’s impossible to be responsible for ourselves because we have no ability to respond. Besides, blaming someone else is so much easier. Projecting our pain and fear doesn’t hurt us directly, so we make excuses, justify our behavior, and do anything not to feel it. Feel the pain. Examine each and every scar still deep within your heart, so the little child parts can finally heal.

My Papa said, “She’s crazy; that’s why I have to go. You’re too young to understand, and I hope you never know the heartache that I’m feeling as I walk away. But don’t you worry. You’ll be fine. You’ll be a man someday.”

My Mama said, “He’s lazy, and he ain’t worth a dime. We’re better off without him. You’ll understand in time. I don’t know how we’ll make it. We’ll get by any way we can. But don’t you worry. You’ll be fine. Someday you’ll be a man.”

Papa left and Mama tried, at least until the day she died. Policeman said, “Damn heroin,” and took me to the next of kin. “You can’t stay here all by yourself. You’ll have to live with someone else. But don’t you worry. You’ll be fine. You’ll grow into a man in time.”

So now I’m here. I’m good and grown. Through all these years, I’ve never known. If Papa’s worthless and Mama’s crazy as she can be, it might sound hopeless. But what does that make me?

Where we’re starting from on this dusty road trying to find our way back home. It’s a lonesome trail, a trail of tears. Where we’re heading to, we don’t really know, but we’re desperate for a way to show we won’t be derailed, derailed by our fears. With weary eyes and broken hearts, we shuffle our way through the dark. When failure rules over our dreams, and disappointment tears us at the seams. Light a candle and say a prayer. There’s someone listening out there somewhere. Bend your knees, kneel in surrender. Confess your need, where you’re weak and tender, and take a moment now. Release your grief and bow. Open your hands, allow the shame to slip away. This is what I pray.

I failed again. I’ve ended up right back where I started eight years ago. Only I’m not in the same place as I was back then. Yes, I’m on my knees. Yes, I’m kneeling in surrender. That’s where I ought to be every day. I keep thinking I can do this; somehow, this time will be different. It’s not different. It’s never different. It’s another day to practice. I need all of the practice I can get. I’ve been in plays; I know the drill. You say the same lines with the same people on the same stage. Each run through brings improvement. Sometimes, an understudy steps in. Sometimes, a certain prop changes, gets broken or adjusted, and the actors often riff or improvise in the moment, but it’s the same story. My life is my story, and each day is another rehearsal. At the end of my life, I’ll see the final performance, how all of the pieces fit together, how the last scene is the resolution, not the climax. I look forward to curtain, and I dread it knowing that it won’t be long before I no longer gather and spend time with the people I enjoy the most. The laughter, the tears, the practical jokes, the arguments, especially the arguments with the director, they’ll all be in the past and the liminal time will begin, the waiting period before the next play is chosen and cast. There is nothing to fear or dread. The heartache and the healing are both a part of the story, and story would be nothing without them.

In our society today there are so many misperceptions floating around about God, Sin, and Jesus. God isn’t a judge or a genie. God is personal. Jesus isn’t just an ancient Jew. Jesus is God with, among, and in us. And sin isn’t something we do when we misbehave. Sin is our Scrawny, Insufficient Nature. We all fall short, not because we’re bad but because we’re human, and all human beings are equal; no one is better or worse. We’re all flawed. We’re all imperfect, and we’re all loved anyway just for being who we are. That’s the good news of the gospel in a nutshell. And, most important, the grace of the Holy Spirit flows through us to impower us to connect directly with God so our flesh can be Jesus to the people in our lives. This explanation is the sum of my faith. I don’t push it off on anyone, and I don’t try to make anyone else believe what I do. I don’t see why anyone wouldn’t want to. We’re free to be happy, to be kind, to love others, and to enjoy our lives. What other message could possibly be better than that?

Alone, I pace through castles of stone safe from the elements within my home. Amply fed, I can survive on massive storages as in a hive. Water flows freely from faucet to basin swelling in pools clear and deep enough to play in. Every need met in warmth and safety; my surroundings full but my insides are empty. The one unmet need for which I am longing is to be free with a sense of belonging. For though we’re lacking, together we fly; and yet, with needs met, left alone I die. This poem expresses a great truth about the human need for connection, but it doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of the excruciating pain we feel when we believe we’re unwanted and know in the core of our being that we don’t belong. Loneliness is the greatest threat to my survival. It creates a lifestyle that I’m continually desperate to escape. My ultimate goal for myself this year is to build a new life of purpose and meaning where, even when I’m physically alone, I don’t have to feel emotionally abandoned.