I find myself, today, in the middle of a huge pity party.
It’s hosted by the devil himself.
He’s handed out the party hats… I selected mine… it says “I’m Not Good Enough”….
It seems to fit perfectly.
Grabbing the punch, I see ice cubes floating within, all letting me know where I am a failure…
Funny how sweet they taste today…as if I can’t get enough, and with each sip, I’m drunker on the untruth of the messages inside.
And what kind of party would it be without cake?
The cake, a constant reminder of what I used to look like, and even though I know I shouldn’t, I eat one -or ten – pieces.
I keep trying to tell the satan that I have other plans; that I must leave, but he’s a good host… and shows me how unloved I am… and how much attention he wants to show me….
….so I stay a bit longer.
I keep telling him I need to leave. I keep telling him I’ve got better places to be.. it’s hot. It’s smoky and I quit smoking… but oh my. Wouldn’t just one taste so good. Just to relax? To unwind?
But he reminds me of the fight I had with the hubs… and how unChristlike I was… how unfit I am to parent these children because I’m not the example they should have… not like that couple at church who are perfect with their children… and oh how happy they both look.
“I really do have to go,” I say, standing up and preparing to leave. I know that I’ll have to pass the cake to get to the door. The party hat feels like 50 punds on my head, but I’m confident I can remove it.
But this punch is so good… and I’m so thirsty….
…which reminds me of my BC (before Christ) time when I really did think the punch in the trash cans was just punch… and how punch drunk I got… unable to walk back to my dorm room… and how that was the beginning of the end of my college career is Boston…how disappointed my parents were in me… how lost I was…
“No,” he says. He’s got a voice so soothing that you can’t get mad at it… it’s enticing and mesmerizing…. “stay just a bit longer. No one needs you. They won’t miss you if you aren’t there.”
But I plead. ”I need to go… I have kids to feed, and homework to help with… and my work. You’re taking the focus off my work.”
He went to refill my drink and I covered the top of the cup with my hand… consequently, the punch was now everywhere, all over me and the floor… and it stunk of failures. My failures as a Christian, a leader, a mother, a wife, a friend, a daughter, a sister, an aunt, and even a pet owner.. there… a big puddle around me.
To get through the punch, past the cake, and that stupid hat off my head is too much for me today.
I can hear Christ pounding at the door. I can hear him tell me that I’m good enough and that He loves me. I can hear Him tell me that He won’t leave without me, but I can’t seem to get to Him. I can’t will myself up out of that chair….
I know the truth.
I can see satan mocking Christ. I can see the confrontation at the door. I have the desire to move. I don’t want to be here, sticky from the punch that is a constant reminder of my past and my failures. I don’t want the weight of how I’m not good enough… and I don’t want to feel how I feel when I attack the cake.
I WANT this party to be over.
But I can’t seem to make it end.
So I’ll stand on the truth that I know… when the world is spinning out of control; when I can’t seem to stop it; when I can’t seem to make it all go my way….
I KNOW He’ll get me out of here. Tomorrow will be a better day.
Until next time…