"It's hard to dance with the devil on your back so shake him off"

It's cool enough to shoot baskets in the drive-way without having to take a shower before dinner and warm enough to sit outside to eat a meal.  A light jacket day.  One you race home off the bus, violently throw your book bag in the house and dart back outside, jump on your bike and race to a friend's house.  There's only three hours before dusk and you plan on making absolutely every moment of it count.  These are the memories I wish would flood back to me when I'm four hours into a sixteen hour shift and one day into my seven day work week.  These are the days I need when I'm terrified that I'm failing at life.

I'm standing here, trying, straining, desperate to recall a day spent this way, from beginning to end. I begin to picture waking up to my alarm clock blaring on my bedside table at 7:00am, dragging myself into the shower that my sister and I shared, throwing on clothes without real thought, shoving down a mom made breakfast... school? I remember gym, and recess.  I remember the smell, the people and I remember the principal's office.

How many of these days can I remember?  I'm dismayed.  I'm finding I can't, actually.  I can't recall an entire day.  I've not only lost minutes, hours... I've lost days.

I've lost days in another shameful fashion.  I've wasted them.  How many minutes, hours, have I wasted blowing off people I care about for people who have only spent minutes with me.  How many hours have I wasted by doing things I knew I shouldn't.  How many have I disappointed and dishonored by shoving them aside while I enact selfish need?

I give my head the smallest shake and the room slowly comes into focus, the kitchen of my parent's house, the faces of of my family, the slight tug of Maci and my clasped hands.

"We're about to say the blessing," she reminds me while looking at my face somewhat curiously.

"K," I'm smiling like I'm drunk, which I realize, is probably why she's looking at me like I'm a stranger.  Maci typically says grace, and she demands our rapt attention when she does.

"Thank you Jesus..." she begins.  With my eyes closed I somewhat drift away and attempt to count my blessings.

"One, two, six, twenty-three, one-hundred ninety-seven, 10,633, 1.9 million..." 


I won't stop counting.

"Hearts are stronger after broken. So wake on up from your slumber, baby, open up your eyes!"

More than a year ago I attended a church service which placed this card in my possession.

I received this during the period that occurred after I'd broken and I was in the recovery stages. I felt awakened, raw, humbled and eager to learn. The sermon had a compelling message and I had strong intentions to hold my self accountable to loving in this way. I realized that these are the ways in which we should love one another. I never wanted the people in my life to question my love for them and I was certain that my faithfulness to these simple truths were going to ensure that I would do exactly what I intended.

I succeeded.

I failed. 

I failed because I forgot.

It only takes an infraction of ONE of these guidelines to fall short of showing your overwhelming love for someone. It's absolutely impossible to show love through, insecurity, selfishness, anger, envy, pessimism and pride. It's difficult to give when we're reminded so often by others how fleeting our ability to show love actually is.

You mean it until you don't

You see until you're blind

You give until you take

You take until you give

You're deaf until you hear

You can until you can't

You can't until you can

You won't until you will

You will until you won't

You don't love til you do

You love until you don't 

I am reminded, I will love

I am stubborn. I asked you to lead me, yet I followed my own path. I asked to be shown the way, but I made myself blind to your guidance. I asked for strength to resist, yet wallowed in temptation. Finally, I asked for my greatest fear, to be broken, and you delivered.

 

Thank you loving me enough to keep reminding me. Please forgive me. I am yours.