Often times, when I sit in the quiet of the night, my heart feels heavier than my body can bear. The weight of unseen battles settles into my bones and no matter how hard I pray, I can’t seem to shake the ache inside.

My phsyical body feels it, the sickness that grows when my soul can’t digest the lies. My chest tightens, stomach turns, the world begins to spin, and I wonder yet again if I’m falling apart. It’s not the kind of pain people can see. It’s quiet, invisible, heavy. It lives in the back of my mind, in the pit of my stomach, and in the ache behind my ribs.

The enemy has been loud lately, deafening really. He fills my mind with lies. He tells me I am weak and I believe him. He tells me I am unlovable and I see everyone of my flaws as proof. He tells me I am alone and the silence feels like confirmation. He tells me I am a failure and my lack of perfection corroborates the lie. I tell myself to shake it off, pray harder, have more faith. The more I try to fight it though, the more I start believing the lies. The weight of shame engulfs me like a dense fog.

I feel small, unworthy, weak, and frustrated.
Lord how could you still want me?

Deep down I know the truth still speaks. It just whispers so softly, waiting for me to turn my ear. But sometimes when the enemy’s attack overwhelms me, my head is on a swivel, instead of leaning into the voice I know speaks truth. I know what God’s word says. When the devil tells me I am weak, the Lord says, “My grace is sufficient for you.” When I feel unlovable, my God whispers, “You are chosen and dearly loved.” When the devil tries to convince me that I am forgotten, Jesus reminds me, “I have engraved your name on my hands.”

Still, some days I can’t seem to hold on these promises. They fall right in front of my like sand slipping through my fingers. Some days I am just so tired. Tired of fighting back thoughts that twist like thorns. Tired of pretending I’m fine. Tired of feeling the guilt and shame of my burdens. Tired of feeling like I should be stronger, further along by now.

But maybe strength isn’t about never breaking. Maybe it’s found in the undoing. In the honesty of saying, “Lord, I don’t feel like enough, but you are enough in me. I can’t fathom why you would want to use me, but you chose me before I was born.” Is the Lord simply letting me unravel so he can weave me new?

My worth was never something to earn, but that’s all I’ve ever known. Maybe the sickness in my body and soul isn’t a sign of his absence, but the tension of his healing. Him pulling out the roots of lies from deep within. Maybe weakness isn’t a punishment, but an invitation. The lies have to rise to the surface before they can be washed off.

I still tremble, I still question. But even here, in the midst of my mess and chaos, I am held in his hand. So when the enemy shouts, I will start whispering back.

I am NOT forsaken, I am CHOSEN

I am NOT forgotten, I am REDEEMED

I am NOT alone. I am BELOVED

The war may rage inside of my, but I will not give the liar my last word.

My last word will be Amen.