You.

I have a list of things to do. 
And yet I am here, compelled to write by that driving force within me. 
I want to talk to you, my dear reader. I want to tell you how proud I am of you. You are living. You are alive and breathing and I am amazed by you. You are beautiful and wonderful and I want to hug your neck and kiss your cheek. You are so valuable and significant and yes, you are worthy.
Worth more than all of the pearls in the ocean. That’s you.
I’m compelled to tell you God is happy with you. Not just happy that you are here: but happy with you. He looks at you and loves you. Yes, dear reader, I know you may not believe how I do. That’s okay–I hope that the statement still reaches down to your hurts and aches and somehow tells you you are loved. 
I saw this and thought–happy with you but not with me.
I saw that statement yesterday on Facebook. And I want to believe God is happy with me. I want to believe my life is of some value. But everything in me screams that God is NOT happy with me. That I am a failure because I break down at the smallest thing. I want to quit after one let down. I do. I want it all to just go away. The weight of the responsibilities. I want them far from me. The expectations I will never meet. The voice in my head that tells me I’m dumb and no good. 
I just want to look at the sky and dream, no words or voices to taunt me.
I want blank.
Void. 
Empty.
Instead I keep going. Instead I keep pushing forward, striving, persevering. You and me–we are kind of the same. We don’t quit, won’t quit, and I’m not sure we know how to quit. In the face and noise of opposition we keep going.
I want to believe the words I tell you about you for myself. I want them to be true about me. They are, I’m sure, though I don’t quite believe it. I’m thinking maybe you feel the same way. You can tell everyone around you how brave and powerful and just chock full of purpose they are… but on your ears they fall flat. 
So maybe if I tell you you’ll believe it. Maybe you’ll tell yourself it with your own voice and replace anything mean with words of hope and encouragement. Maybe you will come back and read this post the next time you just can’t do it. 
Leaps and bounds of bravery.
Maybe the next time you want to cut at your skin you will put the razor down. The next time you want to drown out the noise with pills you will flush them away instead. The next time you just want to drive into nothing you’ll come home instead. The next time you want to shut yourself in a closet you will call a friend instead.
Because you can do it. You will. You’re not a quitter, my friend. No, you’ve been beaten down but you are not defeated. You’re brave and smart and all the good things. You are. I see it. You are alive and I am just so proud of you.
You’re slaying doubts and every lie spoken against you. So brave you are to me. And you make me brave. Thank you.

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