I’m not perfect.
There are some in my life that would laugh at that statement. The ones who know me best. The ones who’ve witnessed my shortcomings, and failures, and pure disasters firsthand. The ones who’ve had a front row seat to poor behavior, or a mouthy comeback, or even a smug look at someone else’s misfortune.
Sometimes I’m a bad example.
And the more time I spend as a single mother on my own, the closer I get to knowing myself deeply, the more I realize how flawed I am as a person. As a mother. As a woman.
And it causes me to cry out at times. To beg God to change me.
Lord, change me.
Into the person I believe he’s calling me to be. More like the women he loved in the Bible because of their faithfulness despite disaster. Into the woman who longs nothing more than to do his will in my life.
Because I’m not that woman a lot of the time.
In fact, I’m so far from her—so weak in nature at times–that I can hardly stand to be me.
Sometimes I’d rather be anyone but me.
And it’s in those moments of brokenness—those moments that seem to last days, or even weeks at times—that I hear him asking me to repeat myself once more.
So . . . Lord, change me.
My heart. Make me understand that who I am and what I do have nothing to do with whether or not you love me.
That your love is not something to be put out on a table as if there for the taking, and then yanked away when I don’t measure up. That unlike the rest of us, you don’t offer your heart and then change your mind when we don’t meet your needs.
That you love us.
And that no matter what we do, or achieve, or accomplish—you won’t love us more.
And that no matter how often we fail, or let you down, or disobey—you won’t love us less.
You’ll just love us.
So radically, that our minds need to change to understand.
Help me to understand a love like that. Then, help me to accept that it’s really mine.
Lord, change me.
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