God tells me I am beautiful. At the end of the day, my feet hurt. I reflect on the past week and don’t know how to make sentences. I don’t know how to make sense of everything that I’ve seen and heard and has happened to me. I lay my head down on my pillow and God tells me I am beautiful. I tell him I cannot see what he sees in me. He tells me his will for me is not stress. His will for me is beautiful. I plug my ears because it doesn’t seem real.

I see myself as broken. My car alternator fails, and I have to figure out how I am going to get it fixed. I don’t like being dependent on other people, but I’m finding myself asking people for rides. It’s frustrating. I’m exhausted, but other people have a lot to deal with as well. I pick up my phone to text, but as soon as I realize my text will be nothing but complaining, I put it down. I’m broken, but I don’t need my burdens to be added onto anyone else’s.

God tells me I am forgiven. God tells me that his rest is easy and his burden is light. I shake my head, thinking that it is maybe true for someone else. But not me. I’m broken and flawed. I’m damaged. The To-Do list grows longer and I get less crossed off. I take deep breaths, and say the right words.

I must accept I am invited. I sit around a table for one of my suitemate’s birthday dinner. Half the table is filled with people I’ve never met. The introvert inside me wants to retreat. I am not included in table conversations. I sit and smile politely. God shakes his head and tells me that I got it all wrong. He tells me to come. He tells me I’m invited. I don’t know how to enter into his presence. I try to shut off the noise around me, and it buzzes louder. I close my eyes and drift asleep. Tomorrow has enough trouble of its own. Tonight, I rest.


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