A Well Pointed Finger

There’s been this little knot in my chest all day, right under my ribs. Every so often it will squeeze and I’ll feel like crying. It’s a piece of me that’s vulnerable, that doesn’t want to be touched. Sometimes I think of it as the “real” me, the part that I keep hidden from most people. There are a lot of parts of me that I’m ashamed of, that I hide. I’m going to confess a few of them now. Don’t hate me. They’re the pitiful, ugly things.
Like my pettiness. Oh God, can I be petty. This little knot inside of me is competitive. It wants to be “best”. It resents other peoples’ talents. Or my pathetic reverse psychology approval addiction. I crave approval. Please, oh please think I’m pretty, and funny, and smart and talented and creative... but don’t say it to me out loud too much, because I can’t process that. I simply can’t. I’ll get embarrassed, and awkward, and because of that, I’ll get offended. Another ugly thing: My deplorable housekeeping. Oh, people can make excuses for me all they want, but I won’t make them for myself. Yes, I have a lot of kids. Yes, my house is tiny. But that doesn’t explain away the piles and piles of laundry, or the fact that I hate to cook dinner. And guess what? If you are orderly and neat and your house is sparkling, I’ll resent you, too. Because, here’s another ugly thing: inferiority complex. I may swagger, and say clever, snarky things, but the reality is, more than likely, I think you’re better than me. So, if you also have an approval addiction, there you go. I approve of you, in some twisted, ugly way.

Once in awhile, and oftener if I’ll let Him, God will reach down with a well pointed finger, and nudge at that vulnerable little knot that holds all my ugly. And He’ll say,

“Hey, you.

Yes, you.

I see you in there.

And I still love you.

I approve of you.”

He did that to me tonight. On the drive home from my weekly Bible study, He nudged me.

And somewhere on the stretch between Meineke and Ruby Tuesday, I broke down.

I heaved huge, gut wrenching, wailing sobs. Tears trickled down my face and dripped into my scarf, leaving my skin tight with salt water and mascara. That little knot loosened up a little, offering some of the malicious, hateful me up to Him. And He accepts it as a burnt offering, a painful sacrifice, which it is.

And He approves.