I’m weary-worn from a hectic week at work,
Feet on husband’s lap, tissue on tear stained face.
Who knew that there would be days like these?
People call and leave their burdens at my feet,
and I try to remember that I’m not Jesus,
and that ultimately it’s my job to point people to Him
not to solve all of their problems.
Yet, the Martha in me tries.
I can’t help but feel that I’m only a little girl
and the shoes are way too big for me.
“‘I’m playing grownup and no one can see in me,
I’m just a child who is learning to hide inside,
Longing to live, but yet learning to die.”
Voices come, masquerading themselves as my own:
“Why did I think I could do this?
What was I thinking?
I’d better quit now before anyone sees…
that I’m not perfect.”
Husband listens, but his eyes begin to droop
because it’s been hours that he has heard me drone on.
I tell him to go to bed.
Thumb slides on phone
looking for His Words to me
on this matter.
“What does this bunch of poor, feeble Jews think they’re doing?
Do they think they can build the wall in a single day…
Do they actually think they can make something of stones from a rubbish heap…”
The voice sounds oddly familiar.
It’s the one that sounds like my own.
Then Nehemiah prayed.
Then I prayed.
Nehemiah didn’t listen to the voices,
and neither will I.
I will go back to work rebuilding the walls
delegating to others
and we’ll whistle while we work.
But not without the Sword of the Spirit
in our mouths,
to chase away words
that cajole and confront
that we are nothing and can not finish.
I am nothing.
I can’t finish.
He is everything.
He has finished.
I am in Him,
and He is in me.
It is done.
Giving thanks because I need to see: