Music is so powerful; a gorgeous, rich, wonderful tool that first opens your mind up, gently pries open doors, and then can rip out your heart and you find yourself sobbing on an otherwise innocuous day.

Or maybe that’s just me.

This weekend was full beyond belief; working to take my old creaky home to something my boys find pleasant to live in. Patching drywall, hauling heavy old boards around, moving furniture and all the trappings, taping, painting. To do anything well, you have to take your time and focus and be patient. For me, that means music. A random selection on my phone blasting out everything, from hard rock, to gentle Christian messages, to classical violin, to 80s top 100s, to Indie romance.

Which means sometimes having to pause and reflect. Why, as I’m trying to focus on getting this piece of tape completely straight, do I have tears rolling down my face and I’m finding it hard to breathe? Why does one phrase in one beautiful song have me bent in half, unable to stand? Why does another make me dance and cry at the same time?

The topic that seemed to most frequently bring me to my knees… had to do with my Father’s house. Not here on earth, but in the heavens above. The sure declaration that I have a place in my Father’s house.

Because, for me, music means singing along. And so, like a sheep to slaughter, I dutifully say all the words of the music I love… and then. And then. I declare alongside the beautiful artist… that I have place. That my Father in Heaven loves me so much that there is. a place. for me.

Full stop.

Breathe.

Accept. Reflect. Breathe.

***

I have never, in this life, to my recollection, felt tremendously worthy of unconditional Love. That’s not to say it wasn’t offered. This post is not a challenge to my mother’s love, which is absolutely unconditional. It’s a post about how *I feel* – which is not the same thing as what was *really offered*

Why?

Where did I break? Why is the idea of not ever being good enough to deserve friendship, much less love, or Unconditional Love (that’s a mind-bender for me) become so hard?

To change course. Let’s think for a minute about people. All the ways in which life causes pain. And then – there are women. Women who are raped before they ever realize they’re in a compromising situation (yep, that was me); Women who are raped by the men that they’re supposed to love forever – ie husbands (me too); Women who are touched, groped, or viewed inappropriately by adults long before they ever near puberty (shall we wave a flag here too?); and then, when these fragile women still dare to have confidence, still dare to have a thought for themselves, who have talent, who love others in spite of all that has been taught to them, then the men who tell them over.andover.andover. all of their failings.

I have a page I wrote several years ago to try to stop myself from killing myself. Because, I had kids. Dying wasn’t an option. but living wasn’t something I could face. So I wrote this – it’s not tremendously creative – I think I saw something similar somewhere else and emulated it. But I printed it, and traced my fingers on the words. and Cried. A Lot.

It took me all night to write what isn’t very good, but I couldn’t function at all. I cried, and wept, and shook, and I wondered at how the sun still rose after?

Even now, reading through it – in many ways it’s easier to read the negatives than the affirmations. I’m far more used to casually being told I’m a dumb blonde, or that everything challenging with my boys is some genetic failing on my part. Yep. That’s easier than remembering that I am worth Loving Too.

Finding God was easy. Loving God was even easier. I’ve always had that. I have never questioned His hand in my life.

Accepting that I am Loved? That I, someone so worthless, could ever be Loved? Worthy? I struggle with acceptance on a human-to-human level. I trust in God completely, but I am baffled why He could find me worthy. But. But. But. But. But.

It may take me until my deathbed. But God. I will learn to accept that God Loves Me as I am. As His child. As Worthy. That it’s not because I’m useful (I try so hard to be useful), but because I am his Child. And that’s all I ever needed to be.

Okay. and Sniff. Can’t write more because I can’t see through my blurry darned eyes. Silly old tears.