God, I often feel small, insignificant, and unknown. I feel an insatiable need to be recognized both by you and by people. I want my inheritance but I want it, not to squander in a foreign land but to use to build your “house.” I also want it because it would confirm to me you presence with me and your anointing on me.
I honestly do not trust my worth to you. I don’t trust you’re with me, that you’ll use me or that you’ll really use me. I fear mediocrity, being second, being un-loved. I fear being the eldest son, David’s seven older brothers. I fear being the ninety-nine sheep you left behind to find the one sheep you really loved.
I fear I am all the nations you didn’t choose over Israel, the son of the fathers other than Abraham. I fear I am Ishmael, Esau or Leah and not Isaac, Jacob and Rachel- yes you love me and yes you are committed to loving me but there is someone you love just a little more.
I fear I am an unseen face in the mass of Egyptian Jewish slaves, or one of the thousands who were exiled to Babylon and though I want to be part of you plan to bring back the captives I fear you will overlook me for a more favored son or daughter.
I want to be the one you choose. I want my story to be like Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Rachel and Moses but I fear I will be one of the thousands you overlooked because I didn’t quite have what it takes – I didn’t quite have what you were looking for.
I want to be your disciple but more so I want to be Peter, James or John because I want to see you behind the scenes where few get invited. I don’t fear being Judas because at least you knew him well. No, I fear being the other 8 disciples we rarely hear about who had a relationship with you and who you probably poured into but who you didn’t trust and entrust with your deepest self.
I fear mediocrity and I fear you calling me to it. I fear your eye is on someone else, someone more (fill in the blank). I know this isn’t fair because I know the bottomless pit comes from all the times my dad chose “her” over me, every time he chose “it” over me. It comes from all the times my dad’s eyes stared blankly at the TV while I repeated his name because his mind was on something outside the room.
I know it comes from my mom’s neglect, her depression, her rage that often got more comfort and attention than me. I know it came from her eye being on the very things my eye is on – the insatiable need for affirmation.
I know you love me but that knowing rarely finds its way to my heart or to my gut. Your love often remains a slow drip in my head that I use to combat the raging fire in my belly that tells me you’ve left, that you’re distant and unaffected by me.
On my good days I’m confident in you and have clarity and trust but today I sad and afraid because the thought can’t escape that your eyes are on someone other than me. however, I am afraid that you have other children you love more and I can’t help but be reminded of the “children” I competed against for your affection as a child.
Remind me of my belovedness.