The Gospel is THIS

Photo Caption: I've been a jumble of emotions this week. All the feelings about all the things. But the thing that's hung me up the most, the root of my frustrations and tears and anger, has been with the fact that I can't "get it together". I have felt like there's something broken in me that isn't capable of being normal or "together" or " a real adult"- my highest form of praise. It isn't just this week that I've felt this way, but it's been more glaring obvious to me. When am I going to stop M E S S I N G U P? When am I going to finally be W O R T H Y of L O V E? It sounds silly to say, but it's truly what I've felt. And I felt it last night, when in my life group we were discussing what it means to be A D O P T E D with F U L L R I G H T S as God's children, and also what in us (or at least me) shy away/run away/ actively avoid that love. And that resonated so deeply with me, because I know why I avoid it-- I'm waiting until I've earned it. I can't imagine accepting it if I don't think I've done enough for it. And so I'm frustrated because I feel like everything this week has set me back from getting there: my tears, my anger, my frustration. And I am so, so grateful for people in my life who are willing to speak the truth so loudly and confidently that I cannot do A N Y T H I N G to earn Gods love. I am fully a daughter who is loved beyond measure. And as I sat there with people praying over me, fighting back the internal monologue of "nancy page, get it together. It's time for people to STOP praying for you and for you to be OKAY", I physically opened my hands to receive that love. And I didn't do anything at all to deserve it; I have probably been the one in the middle of that couch one too many times. And yet they loved me like it was the first time. I don't have it all together; some seasons of life, maybe I'll have more together than others, with the Lords help and mercy. But I'm trying and fighting to put aside my own will and internal monologue and mistakes and rest in that L O V E that is never contingent on perfection of my own doing. I am more flawed than I imagine, A N D more loved than I could never hope.

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