I wake up with a lot of things running through my head: Don’t forget it is picture day for Madison. There is a ton of laundry after the weekend and make sure, in particular, that M’s new green shirt gets washed. Call blah blah. Wipe down the bathrooms, make beds, empty the dishwasher. Go to Publix. We need more this and that. Swim team day. La la blah blah. I have to organize it.
I pull out a sheet of paper and a pen, write it down in an order that makes sense and then jot down the guesstimated amount of time it will take by writing beside that chore or event what time I should finish. Done. Check. This is my day. The list is made. I’ve got this.
Several hours later, I wrap up the vacuum cleaner cord, light a candle, and plop down on the couch with my girl to read Pollyanna.
Strength. Power. Check. Those are my good days. And I’m pretty good at having good days.
I screw the top on my travel mug, sit down on the floor, leaning on the club chair, pull out my iPad and type away. My fingers can’t keep up with my mind: repeat that. Emphasize here. Build up momentum. Bam. Ending punch.
Write. Repeat and emphasize here. Write. It is part of who I am. I find identity in my love of writing. I include it on my list of accomplishments. There is power in my ability to write. Hey, I struggle with enough that I claim my strengths when I have them. I am a writer.
Lover. Looking looking looking for love. Caroline is a lover. When I found love, we melted. It is not so hard to serve James because I love him. Ahh! Chill runs up my back, shake my shoulders, I love him. There are so many fingers raised and point this out and mentions to be made but I am just going to stop there. No clarifications will be made. I am a lover! I claim that man, he is mine and I am proud of it! He is part of my completion and my identity. I am a lover.
What is your power? What is your identity?
Are you rolling in cash? Do you have a singing voice to make me and the rest of the world jealous? Are your legs fast? Do you demand attention and get respect when you walk into a room? Do your hands obey your eyes with surgical precision? Can you listen and retain every spoken word?
This man, he can command the cells in human bodies. This man, the spirits obey him. This man can tell the stars to stay or fly. He knows thoughts, he makes animals, and he walks and talks with God.
Power? No power is denied him.
He is laughed at. He is whipped. He is accused, rejected, denied, and abused.
Power, where is your power?
This man, He is found among the weak. He uses his power to heal the sick. His fingers make the blind man see his family for the first time. His words hang the shining sun over the white sandy beaches. His strength parts the sea so the running slave can taste freedom. He comforts the lonely standing at her husband’s grave.
That man, where is his strength? How does he use his power?
He denied himself, hung on the cross, and declared his love for me. Rejected, he lifted me up. Condemned, he set me free. Dying, I am forgiven. Loved, he used his power for me.
All I have is because of him. How will I use my gifts he gave to me?