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I worry about my limitations.
Because sometimes I feel as if I possess nothing to give.
And I think all my gifts flail in the shallow end of the pool.
And there are masses of people smarter, better, and more compassionate than I am.
And these golden people spout Bible verses, when the only thing I spout is sarcasm (and an occasional curse word).
Plus, there’s my kids and my job and life’s demands and holy cow, I messed up Spirit Week and sent my kid to school in pajamas on the wrong day (again).
It’s during these times I am tempted to ask for an exception of service. You know, like a hall pass to get out of actually serving others. Afterall, I am certain God can find someone more qualified to represent Him.
Someone who remembers to sign notes and bring meals.
Then, I remember how much God loves the underqualified. Those who doubt (Thomas), worry (Martha), stutter (Moses), and haul butt in the opposite direction (Jonah).
It’s those who don’t make sense as the first choice, and those who must cling to God and His Word.
Word lover. Book devourer. Music addict. Amy is a Northern girl who found herself living in the South. She drinks sweet tea, turns her nose up at okra, and attempts to tell her daughters "yella" isn't a color.