I am empty, or so it seems, blown-out eggshell being steamrolled against hot pavement. And when the roller moves on, who will even know I was here?
I feel their needs for breakfast or a pair of clean underwear as though they were weights upon my already weighed-down frame. I try so hard to be patient and gentle and loving through another long description of how the boat works or a series of questions about where sugar comes from or the banging of pots and lids on the floor as she systematically pulls everything out of the pan cupboard again.
These are not great demands, but they seem like too much, too much to give when I am empty.
If I give even one more thing, will I not simply fall to pieces, dried and turned to dust?
I am a fool.
Empty, never. What pride to call myself empty, to act as though I am alone and helpless when I am indwelt by the God of the universe! If He is within me, what more could I possibly need? When will I have enough?
I have allowed myself again to forget my need of Him, need so deep. I have drawn on my own meager strength and found it sorely lacking. And all the while He is within.
Within– never allowing me to be crushed beneath the steamroller of life, for He fills me and keeps this fragile shell from collapsing. Oh, I may break, but only so He can strengthen me more.
He is all that matters. Why do I forget so often?
Their needs for food or hugs or guidance or scotch tape are asked of me, but I never meet them alone, unless I am a fool.
He meets their needs, using my hands, my voice, and He meets my needs, with His Spirit and His rest and His grace.
And when they ask for more kisses, or linger extralong in a hug, He meets my needs through them.
And I am full to overflowing.