Some days, everything just hurts.
I am tired and sensitive and easily offended. I am sure I am a selfish wife and a lazy mother and a rubbish friend. And I feel too weak to carry all the weight this world asks us to bear.
On those days of hurt feelings and two-year-old temper tantrums, of ruined plans and crap weather, everything that’s broken in me cries out, “Who am I?”
And often, honestly, I hear my words hit the wall.
But on the days when I am quiet enough to catch it, if the TV is off and my phone is on silent and I really want to know the answer, I can hear Him say, “I will tell you.”
Because only He knows. Only He has it written down – scrawled in steadfast, permanent ink.
Not wife or mother or friend. Not artist, not writer, and certainly not try-hard, wannabe, failure.
Only daughter. Only His.
And here I can let go. And close the curtains. And rest. In the knowledge that my shortfalls and my setbacks do not define me. My weakness has not changed what is written, what cannot be erased.
Who He says that I am.