His Grace is Sufficient
Years ago, Scott gave me a beautiful black leather journal for my birthday. On the cover written in silver calligraphy is the verse from 1st Corinthians “my grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” When I was a child, that verse was the one my mom would often say to me as encouragement when my insufficiencies and doubts felt heavy. I used to write prayers in that special journal, but now I use it to organize various lists for my writing endeavors. I’m almost out of pages and it feels a little like the end of an important season.
This past Sunday, after church, I sat in the springtime sun flipping through the old pages and reminisced as I read different entries. I read countless prayers for wisdom to be a better mom and many lines of “help my unbelief.” I also came upon a forgotten page that contained brainstorms about my upcoming book. I used some of the ideas in the story, but many I didn’t. My handwriting looks hurried and sloppy, probably because I was trying to get everything down before I forgot, or was interrupted. I felt a sense of accomplishment and pride as I read the hurried words I’d written a few years ago.
I never planned to write a book. That was a childhood dream I kept in the same mental box as my dream to be on Saturday Night Live or my desire to suddenly wake up able and willing to travel the world. Writing a book never seemed possible, and I was okay with it. I remember in middle school I once took one of my dad’s yellow paper pads and began crafting a story about a young gnome named Igbo. I don’t remember much of the story, but I do know he felt like a loner and wanted badly to fall in love with the most beautiful girl in the village. I wrote page after page by hand, tirelessly aiming to fill up the whole thing so it would feel “like a book.” I never finished it, but the character has stayed in my heart.
As the book launch date comes closer, I feel a little like I do in those dreams when I’m giving a speech in my underwear—vulnerable. When the feeling changes over to terror I try to remember the young nine-year-old girl I used to be who fretted for hours about whether I’d gotten pregnant after sitting on a toilet seat in a public restroom. I picture the teenage me who was convinced I’d hit a person with my car when that was an impossibility. I think about those younger versions of myself and pray this story will find people who worry about similar things and encourage them that no, they aren’t alone. I hope the story helps someone to be brave enough to face their fears in a controlled environment so they can ultimately find relief. I hope they see Jesus in every single word and realize that His love for them is bigger than any fear or lie.
The verse on the front of my journal reminds me that His grace IS sufficient. His power IS perfect. I’m weak, that’s for sure, so “I will boast all the more about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”
