never quite good enough, she muses.
she tries hard, oh so hard; but others
always seem to have the edge.
catty sneers mock her in the silence.
she turns to confront the source, only
to find phantom memories.
will i ever be somebody worth loving?
she wonders as familiar tears return.
the pain of scorn visits harshly.
she knows she is supposed to love God.
she knows she should love her neighbors,
and even her enemies too. but
what if her worst enemy is herself?
fingering the self-inflicted cuts on her wrists,
she asks, am i made in God's image too?
am i worth something? am i valued?
do i matter to God and others? she asks.
through the veil of doubt and pain,
she sees Jesus suffering as on his head a
crown of thorns is placed. as the lashes tear
his skin and the cross bears up his frame,
she sees him look into her eyes and call her
name. her sin, her shame, her doubt all are nailed
to the tree, setting her burden on him; setting
her free.
25 March 2007 by Glen Alan Woods
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