An Empty Shelf

There's this dull ache that sits right below my rib cage; occasionally it will strike with a hand of severity that threatens to rip the softened flesh of my body right in half.
For long moments of time, spanning over days of 30, 60, 90, I would convince myself of a diagnosis only to realize with swift assuredness that I am no doctor, just a silly girl in earnest search for calculated answers. I am still coming up short.

I used to sit on a leather couch and pick at the skin laying blankets next to my stained fingernails . . . 'and how does that make you feel?' repeating over and over in my ear and I almost wonder aloud if this is all it takes to have an office with leather chairs . . . merely to ask 'and how does that make you feel?'

I felt then, and I feel now, a dull ache - sitting right below my rib cage. Then - it was because I was in a relationship that wasn't filling me in the correct ways. Now - it is because I am in a relationship . . . with no one - and I'm not being filled in the correct ways.
But wait, what is it that I'm supposed to be being filled up with, again? And the dullness pulses stronger and then eases up.

I sit here, listening to the slow drip, drip, drop of the leaky kitchen sink and I remember a quote I once heard, "when people show you who they are, believe them."

Drip, drip, drop . . . what am I showing to people, exactly?

That I'm a girl born on a farm who is increasingly grateful for where she comes from? Likely not, as I am continually complaining about having to drive from this farm town to the city everyday.

Drip, drip, drop . . .

Do I show people that I love Jesus through my actions, with my words, in every intentional conversation I have? Likely not, as I am tired, worn out, scared, tired of being disrespected.

Drip, drip, drop . . .

That I am grateful for the people in my life, for the love that they bring and the wisdom they share? Likely not. Because I'm typically so anxious about messing something up that I end up . . . messing something up.

Drip, drip, drop . . .

There's a small ache beneath my rib cage - something seems to be missing - and what is it? and how does that make me feel? and . . .

Drip, drip, drop . . .

The ache seems to stem from the knowledge of a hard truth that lies in this world, this life, not being for the weak hearted, the easily intimidated, the faint of mind. But I know - staring in front of the reflection each morning and humming along to the radio en route and just letting my eyes flutter closed for just, one, second - that I am all these things - weak and easily intimidated and faint - until everyday I claim Jesus, until I show Jesus to everyone that I encounter, no matter how my heart feels.
Because who am I? To complain about a 45 minute drive to work when He had nails driven into His flesh - for me.
Because who am I? To whine about singleness and waiting when His one unanswered prayer to have this cup taken away from Him is the one unanswered prayer that saved my life.
Because who am I? Without a Father that loves me past all circumstances and actions.

I am weak hearted, easily intimidated, faint of mind.

Drip, drip, drop . . .

The dull ache is what will come to thrive if my life is lived outside of Jesus . . . the dull ache is simply a reminder that there is so much more to come . . . because He has promised a return.