I accidentally believed I was useful for a minute the other day.
Like that one part, in the post I wrote on Friday, where I was all, “Yeah, you guys, I’ve got somethin’ important to say to the U.S. church! And God is gonna use me in the suburbs! And blah, blah, blah, I have a purpose!”
I believed it when I said it. I wrote it with confidence. …But five minutes later I found myself across from a mirror and when I saw myself I remembered that I am so perfectly ordinary, those things couldn’t possibly be true. Looking at my own face, a familiar mantra crept into my head; a whisper I’ve heard a million times over, the mocking voice of Doubt, arriving to ask me a question…
“Who do you think you are?”
Who do you think you are? Do you think you’re a writer? Ha! Why would anyone care what you have to say?!
It’s the same voice I hear when I parent…
Who do you think you are? Do you think they don’t see what a hypocrite you are? Seriously. Why should they listen to you?!
It’s the same voice I hear when I rest my head on my husband’s chest…
Who do you think you are? Do you think you’re enough? Why should he even love you?!
It followed me through the weekend, that same small question, chipping away at my spirit – a pick-ax to my soul. It ate away at my resolve to happily pack and sort and clean in preparation for our next bold step. It tore at my faltering confidence with claws and teeth, and I finally went to bed last night, defeated, with that sure but quiet voice still resonating in my head…
Who do you think you are… that God could use you?!
I woke at 3 am, reminded by the impressive state of disarray in my bedroom that I’m moving in three weeks. Reminded by dust bunnies the size of your face that I am an epically bad housekeeper. Reminded by stacks of papers “to be filed” that I am insanely disorganized. Reminded by this self-created chaos that I’m not cut out for much of anything worth a damn. Reminded, indeed, that I’m kind of a loser.
In the dark, I asked God, “What am I doing? Who do I think I am?!”
And His answer came to me, as it always does, like a deep breath rising from within, to pour into the broken places and shore up the weak spots. With a gentle revival, and a better question, He answered me…
…Who do you think you aren’t?
Do you think you aren’t a daughter of the Most High King?
You’re called to lean into the talents I’ve given you, guide the children I’ve gifted you, love the husband who cleaves to you, and rise up when I call you to rise.
No more. No less. The God who uses the old, the weak, the whore, and the drunk, will use whom he sees fit to use. All you have to do is show up.
So ask yourself, Baby Girl…
Who do you think you aren’t?
…Do you think you aren’t mine?
…. ….. ….
It’s a question for us all. Who do you think you aren’t?