Sometimes I Get Sick of Myself

Sometimes I get sick of myself.

I get sick of my failings and my weaknesses.  I get sick of my selfishness and my self-centeredness.  I get sick of letting my fears and my insecurities and my anxieties drive my words.

I get sick of not being good enough.  Of not being kind enough and giving enough and open enough.  Of not being wise enough and gentle enough and forgiving enough.

I get sick of looking out for myself.  Of minding my own wounds.  Of seeking grace in others instead of being that grace for others.

I try to remember that to be human is to fail, it’s to own weakness.  It inherently implies a failing and a brokenness and an inability to reach perfection.

I try so hard to remember that.  To stay balanced.

But to stare deep inside, to accept all that is faulty and ugly, is a hard thing to do.  It’s hard to bounce back from.  It’s hard to live with.

And so I pray for strength and healing and mending.

But still, every day, almost without exception, I find myself seeking understanding before seeking to understand.

And I’m sick of that.