I’m not completely blind

My uncle is kinda blind. Legally, he’s blind. But the last I heard, he could still see outlines of people and a difference between dark and light. Our spiritual eyes are kind of like that, I think. We don’t always see everything — sometimes we miss the good things that are somewhat hidden, and sometimes we miss the bad things that are right in front of our face. And sometimes it’s turned around. But I think a lot of times, we see the bad, and we see the good. I know I see plenty of bad, and not just in the world. I see plenty of bad and ugly in my own life. I see plenty of sin in me. But I also see a lot of good in the world, and sometimes I see some good in me. I’m not going to lie to you — a lot of times I don’t see any good in me. And when I get to thinking like that, like I’m not good and there’s not one ounce of goodness in me, I remember the Holy Spirit.

And I can see the power of the Holy Spirit within me. I can see all of my weaknesses and failures and shortcomings, and I can see all those times when I “miss the mark.” I know hamartia that’s in my life. I can see those things. I can see them because I’ve been trained to, and all my life I’ve been taught to see where I was wrong and to try and fix those things that are bad. Rarely was I told growing up that there were way more good things about me than I thought. And that’s not my parents’ fault, not necessarily. Surely they could have done a little better in that department, but it takes a whole village to raise a child, doesn’t it? Where the hell was my village?

I see the power of the Holy Spirit in me. I also see all of my weaknesses. I see where I fall short and miss the mark on a day-to-day basis. I know that the sin I hate doing is the sin that I continually do. I know that my self-seeking, self-indulging, self-fulfilling nature is wrong and self-defeating. I see my actions which hurt not only others sometimes, but also hurt me always. I see mostly always the pain I cause to the people I love. It’s actually funny, sad-funny not haha-funny, that I almost always think that I’m causing pain to people I love (or don’t love) when actually whatever I did doesn’t have any affect on them whatsoever. It’s sad how my views are so skewed that I wholeheartedly believe that I am more likely than not always causing some sort of pain, or trouble, or discomfort to those around me.

I see all these bad things, or not good things, and they all have certain grips on my weak heart. Every last thought is one more binding that keeps me chained to this world of sin. Every word I speak seems to me like a hellacious cacophony that will only bring despair those who are unfortunate enough to hear me. And I am constantly consumed by the thought of not being ‘enough,’ and how to finally be ‘enough’ of anything for anyone. Though, I do feel as though I am ‘enough’ of somethings to most people: I feel that I am ‘enough’ of an annoyance, and ‘enough’ of a burden. I feel that I am ‘enough’ of a distraction, and ‘enough’ of an idiot that sometimes to even exist is a bother to humanity. I think that I am of ‘enough’ intelligence that I am not a huge menace to society with my dimwitted-ness nor am I so obnoxiously intelligent and arrogant that the world hates me and despises me and wants nothing to do with me. And all these things, whether alone or compounded, make me think and feel that I am neither ‘enough’ of anything good nor ‘enough’ of anything not bad, but rather that I am almost too much of anything bad.

But all that is the opposite of what the Spirit tells me. In fact, it’s a complete and utter juxtaposition of everything and anything the Spirit has ever said to me, and perhaps to anyone. My God whispers in the stillness to my ‘enoughness.’ My God whispers to me and gently reminds me that not only am I actually ‘enough,’ but that I am ‘enough’ because of Him. My God whispers to me that because I am in Him and He in me, that I am ‘enough.’ Not by my own great triumphs and failures, but because of the grace and love that has been so grandly and beautifully and graciously and fantastically poured down and washed over me. Not by my own merit, but because of the blood of Christ am I even considered ‘enough.’ Not only that, but I am considered ‘enough’ by the God of Abraham and Isaac and Jacob who has constantly proven himself time and again as more than enough.

And if the God of Adam, and Moses, and Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, and Judah, and David, and Solomon, and Uzziah, and Hezekiah, and Josiah, and Joseph says that I am ‘enough,’ then holy Mary mother of Jesus… I am enough.

And if the Father of Jesus, who was sent to shed his precious and holy (and possibly radiant blood [Holy Spirit DNA, c’mon]) on the most feared execution device of the day, says that I am ‘enough,’ then holy freaking crap… I am enough.

And it’s funny, because so many times I have read Psalm 139 and just sort of jumped over the words, reading them only to read them, but here I am really reading them and beginning to soak them in more than normal and this is what I read:

For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
How precious to me are your thoughts, O God!
How vast is the sum of them!
Were I to count them,
they would outnumber the grains of sand.
When I awake,
I am still with you.

Holy. Freaking. Crap.