It’s after midnight. I sit slumped on the couch, feeling the cool relief of the summer night being pulled in through the open window behind me. I could pretend the breeze was real if I didn’t hear the low growl of the whole-house fan swirling down the hall. But it doesn’t matter. The artificial breeze feels good.

I can relax. Almost.

Did I get enough done today?

So it starts, the mental cataloging of the day’s tasks, assigning them arbitrary weights of value, deciphering where the minutes went.

And like always, the answer comes from within, deep down like a failure I’m trying to forget.


Maybe I can do better tomorrow.

It’s been a hard summer. It’s been hot and dry outside, and full of rain inside. The heat makes my brain slow, and the rain often leaves my head in a fog. I’m tired. Inefficient. Dormant. And incredibly busy.

It’s also been a good summer — really good for the soul. And with the difficulties, there have been many moments of joy. I am very blessed by God. But sometimes blessings come in packages of pain.

God has been working on my insecurities this summer. I’ve known they were there. I’d thought they were permanent fixtures, part of the fallen state that came to me prepackaged at birth. I thought they’d be there forever, and maybe their scars always will be. This summer, I have realized my insecurities can become sin. I’ve realized that God wants them gone.

But I don’t want to talk about my insecurities. I want to talk about how I respond to them.

I wish I could say I always take them to Jesus, that I exchange them for truth and grace. Sometimes I do, and it’s wonderful, like autumn — full of sunshine and cool air that moves without a mechanical hum in the background.  

But other times — I just do. I work. I create. I perform. I produce something — anything to make me feel like I’m worth it.

I have something to prove, to me and to you.

And I rarely feel like I get enough done.

In those moments, the truth I live and the truth I believe are different.

The truth I believe is simple. Through Christ I am forgiven and fully accepted, adopted into a life where my goal is only to love — God and people. As long as I am walking by the Spirit in this way, I don’t have to do anything else.

Yet, so often I find myself living in a different story. On those days, I wake up to run a race I always lose.

Choosing to live out of the truth — out of what I believe, costs something. Sometimes it costs my reputation — even among fellow Christians. But more than that, it costs my self-satisfaction — my pride.

The irony is, feeling like I can do enough to be good enough costs so much more. It costs peace, joy, and the energy and ability to love fully. All the while, I never feel satisfied.

I don’t want to ask myself whether I’ve done enough anymore. Instead, I want to love, fully and completely every moment.

Because his love is enough.

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