There are some spiritual giants in my life right now, and if we’re running a race, I don’t know how I’ll ever catch up. And it’s intimidating, and convicting. . .and inspiring.
I grew up in a public school system and supposed myself a feminist, but as time wears on I’m finding that wrong-headedness is a very natural by-product of that kind of system and I’m glad to be escaping it.
Something I’ve been realizing, and that has been corroborated by a lot of my recent reading and experience, is that as women, we are built to love and love and love and love with an overflowing, motherly, sisterly, daughterly heart. I love it. I’ve been praying Amy Carmichael’s prayer: “Lord, do Thou turn me all into love, and all my love into obedience, and let my obedience be without interruption.”
But anybody who knows me in real life will probably be astounded by these last few lines, because I’m afraid it doesn’t show up very well outwardly yet. As a Christian, I have always struggled with feelings of utter failure. I have had such a hard time believing that God has any love for grimy, useless little me. Looking back, even as a little girl, I wanted desperately to be a Christian, but I’ve never felt remotely worthy of any of the Lord’s interest. It’s an ongoing struggle, even now, but I’m beginning to see that “He who hath begun a good work in [me] will carry it on to completion.” Of course, the good work feels very small. If it’s a seed, it sure hasn’t sent up any green leaves yet, and underground are just the first signs of germination. . .
But it’s something. Something that will be a flower eventually. Only, like my green beans, it’s taking awhile to come up.
Mom McC pulled me aside after Bible study the week before last, and encouraged me to speak up more. 
Easier said than done. Oh, I tried and triiiied this past week to dredge something up! But sometimes. . .It’s like I’m a well. And the rope on the bucket is too short to reach the water in the bottom. . .And until I can take it up and look at it in the light, even I don’t really know what’s down there. I may look placid enough, but let me tell you of the struggle beneath the surface. I’ve let out all the rope, and even untied it from its post and dangled myself as far down the well as I can reach, yet still no water–just the rocky, mossy sides of the well.
Sigh.
I always knew I liked you. I didn’t always realize quite how much you were a kindred spirit. I feel all poetic now and want to respond to this somehow, but anything I say would be shabby by comparison. And so, I shall just savor the moment and the fragrance of Marissa.
And just to let you know, I’m stealing your metaphor of wells and buckets and putting it in my quote collection.
Well, I do tend to smell preternaturally nice, but friend o’ my heart–”savoring the fragrance of Marissa” may be a little too much.
See, I knew you were a kindred spirit.
You write so many more “deep” blog entries, that I’m always reading what you write and identifying with your struggles. I’m flattered that my well metaphor strikes a chord, though! As I was writing it, I was like, “Okay, so this is my struggle almost exactly–but is it going to make any sense to anyone else??”
*hugs*