"Humility is such an illusive virtue, isn’t it? As soon as you think you’ve got it, you don’t. That’s part of the problem: When I finally achieve humility, I get proud of myself. My humility cries out for recognition. Humility is terribly fragile."
What am I doing, God? What do You want from me?
I feel like I've screamed this out so many times.
I want to be called apart, I want to be used by God, I want to be different.
But I continue to enter into the ways of the world.
Basically, at the core of me, the very thing I hate, I want. I'm the teenage girl, hopelessly attracted to the bad boy.
Here's the deal: I'm on a high horse of humility; a pedestal of piety. Leave out the oxy and it's just moronical.
Here's the confession: I'm never quite sure if I'm burying my talents under some false guise of humility or rightly waiting on God's timing.
I want simplicity but envy complexity. I want anonymity but still to be heard. I want heavenly reward but earthly treasure too.
So God has to lay me low. And perhaps this is His greatest gift to me. This is tender protection.
And my calling now, to listen for the baby, to calm the wild child, to bring up a godly man, to cherish the sweetest of hearts, to have a chaste and reverent spirit, to write when led and pray, pray, pray for others. Because my words are nothing unless they lead to the Word who became flesh. And I cannot lead where I have not been. And I persevere but it's not a competition.