There are so many things I’m not good at.
And apparently I have an inner monologue determined to record each and every one of them.
There’s a voice in my head that tells me I am not enough. Some days it’s quiet and some days it’s super shouty.
It’s the strangest thing, to discover the back of your brain muttering mean things to yourself.
The whisper is so soft, so ordinary, so normal by now that I rarely stop to investigate. I just let the words run through my veins until they seem like a normal part of my DNA.
This house will never be clean.
You’ll never get caught up on the laundry.
Your words won’t match up to hers.
You’re not good enough.
You’re never going to get caught up.
You can’t do that.
You’re just not good at this.
I heard that voice in the car today. I was sitting in a Panera parking lot in our minivan. Alone. Maybe that’s why I listened without just letting it wash over me. Maybe that’s why I tuned in to the nefarious whispering I’d been letting slide up until now.
I listened and I almost couldn’t believe what I heard. I was surprised actually. Kind of amazed that I was capable of such petty meanness to myself. Because the thing about that voice is that it is a nit picker. It delights in destroying the DNA of a day, a dream, a moment bit-by-petulant-bit.
But when I tuned in it sounded more and more like static. Fuzzy, harsh, wirey, unforgiving. But small. My friend Holley calls it devil static – the noise that tries to drown out the truth God is speaking into our lives and through our lives. The noise that crackles and cackles and tries to poke fun at who we are growing up into; tries to derail us out of sheer embarrassment.
I told that voice off today.
Yes, I talked back to myself in an empty car.
Because I remembered that a Father-God who surely loved His Son with all the gut-fire with which I love my Jackson and Micah handed Him over to pay my ransom; to rescue me from a brutal kidnapping He sent His only Son unarmed into the drop spot.
We all know what happened when He arrived.
I called that voice out. And in doing so I could almost hear it deflate. I addressed that no-voice with my whole attention, with my God-inheritance, with my royal claim and I could hear the static fizzling.
I am not nothing.
You are not nothing.
We are daughters of the King. We are bought at a price. We are beloved.
And there is a much greater voice, a voice with all the rich, resonant tones of Truth so filled with love for us that unlike that devil static He
will no longer rebuke you,
but will rejoice over you with singing.
Not hissing or criticizing or comparing or mocking.
Much later I sit on a mattress as old as my marriage and just let that beauty sink in.
And a new song plays in the back of my head.
by Lisa-Jo, community manager for (in)courage and cheerleader for kind words.