It’s eleven minutes till eleven at night, and once again I find my bed time being pushed back further and further, as my to do list stretches ever further.
I finished the second round of edits on my book tonight. (Though it feels like the forty second.) There is just one more round to go before printing, and hopefully any changes from now on will be minor and quick. I’m sick of reading my words. So tired of being in my head. And I’m feeling kind of done.
Done with writing, and blogging and the whole social media event. Done trying to work out Facebook’s algorithm’s and when the best time to share a post is.
Done feeling guilty as I try to do everything, and be everything.
Done with the criticism from those who sit in their glass houses and throw stones at me like they know who I am. Who judge my character and make hypocritical statements when not one of us has the right to do that to another person.
Done believing that the good is coming, when everything is so hard all the time.
And now when all is done
There is nothing to say
You have gone, and so effortlessly
You have won
You can go ahead tell them
Tell them all I know now
Shout it from the roof tops
Write it on the sky line
All we had is gone now
Tell them I was happy
And my heart is broken
All my scars are open
Tell them what I hoped would be
Read more: JAMES ARTHUR – IMPOSSIBLE LYRICS
Except I can’t be done, not at all. I am so exhausted and would like nothing more than to throw in the towel and just commit to working behind a counter for the rest of my life, when I’m not at home building cardboard trains with my babies.
But that’s impossible.
Because I am not done.
I am at the beginning of awesome.
I have a fire that burns so brightly that it will not accept done, or anything less than 100%
Those that judge me, who read my words and find my faults, they say I am a contradiction. Confident one minute, and despondent the next. And they are right. So perfectly right. This is me to a tee.
But what makes me go from low to high, is my truth. That it is not who I say I am, that is important, but who my God says I am. I struggle to believe in myself, but when I do, I turn to the one who has never stopped believing in me.
My identity is not limited to my occupation or home duties or level of blogging enthusiasm; my identity is bound up in who Christ is, and what he has done for me. The rest are just details.
And so I know, that there are good things coming. I know that the tough times will end, and that weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning. I know that I am not done, and nor will I ever be done.
Not until they lay my body in the ground, and perhaps even, not then.
I choose to believe that the impossible can happen.
I choose to believe that we were all meant for a purpose.
I choose to believe that the only one who can decide we are done, is ourselves.
And I’m not done yet.
These are the things I know.