Nowadays, when I look around my house and see mess, or when my eyes fall on expensive books I have bought but haven’t read, or I remember a project I started enthusiastically but haven’t completed, I tell myself the same thing: “God loves me.”
When my blog is not growing; or I have been snubbed; when I realize I came across too strong, like an exuberant puppy; when I have just indulged in momentary pleasure which will be pain on the scales, I remember it, and say, “God loves me.”
I started telling myself that to comfort myself. “Oh Anita, it does not look like you will achieve your writing goals today; God loves you. You haven’t lost weight this week; God loves you.” And I believed it intellectually.
But now, I truly believe it. The knowledge wells up within me. It is the beat my pulse returns to—God loves me.
God loves me, God loves me: it has become the cry of my heart, as if reminding myself of a floor beneath which I cannot fall. All shall be well because God loves me.
It is no longer something I consciously remind myself of. It is something my heart reminds me of: “Anita, God loves you.”
Oh girl with the messy house, God loves you. Oh girl so overwhelmed with her to do list that she’s stopped looking at it: God loves you. Oh sedentary girl who succumbed to sweet temptation, God loves you. Girl struggling with envy: God loves you. Girl who got distracted instead of writing: God loves you.
Groggy morning or too late night; disciplined day or fractured one; day when I made a fool of myself, or was ever so wise; good day, bad day, it a “God loves me” day.
It’s become the drumbeat of my heart, a reminder, comfort and also sheerest fact: “God loves me.”
Thank you to Kelli Woodford for her hospitality!
