Little Ole Me

littleoleme

What can I give so that I can take some more? What can I take so that I can give to myself?

How can I live to express myself? How can I love to feel more love?

How can I listen  just to be heard? How can I touch so that I may feel?

So Little Ole Me just wants more. Little Ole Me wants more of me.

So I give to take ,and I live to express.

I love to be loved. I listen to be heard.

And I touch to feel. All for me and more of me.

Give me this and give me that.

Little Ole Me wants more, you see.

So, I walk through this Valley wanting more. Eyes on the ground, ignoring hearts. Hands folded and tightly clasped. And, what is this place where trials are attention and everyone knows about each little hardship I face?

What is this way that in the name of God I can plaster my discomfort for the world to hear, then claim to believe that God is good while asking fully for the attention and pity of others? How is it that trials are used for attention, and tears for heartfelt words? So, Little Ole Me can dwell on me, and Little Ole Me can be encouraged by other Little Ole Me’s.

It’s as though Little Ole Me walks through this Valley reaching, screaming, and kicking. What for? Why for any person who raises a hand to feel sorry for the pain that Little Ole Me is currently experiencing. Little Ole Me will do anything for that empty voice, those words in the void, that one little phrase “I understand.”

Don’t pretend that it hasn’t been done. Don’t pretend that it isn’t you. I saunter through the Valley yelling that “God is good!” But, Little Ole Me doesn’t live believing that He is.

I scream out my trials, then whisper “God is good”. I don’t do this to tell the world that He is good. I do this to yell about Me. I want that attention. I scream out my struggles, then whisper that God is good. Just a little whisper, a tiny afterthought.

I hide in the shadow of His wings, yet yell from beneath them to hear the human assurances, and the hearts that will feel sorry for me. I am safe and secure, yet Little Ole Me cries out for other Little Ole Me’s. Because, selfish I is all I see.

Little Ole Me, I’m just one. I am exhausted of this, because when did God’s goodness become an afterthought? When has it ever been my right to yell to the world about the trials I am facing? If it is for His glory, then share them. If it is for my twisted glory, then refrain from sharing.

Yet, here I am, given so much, and safe in the shadow of His wings as I scream to the world about Me. Yelling for them to hear Me, then whispering that God is good.

Little Ole Me.

little Ole Me.

little ole Me.

little ole me.

God is not a whisper.

Ashamed I fall at His feet. How dare I treat my life as the Voice, and His goodness as a mere whisper. I give up me once again. God Almighty, God my Savior, help this wretched heart from yelling out me and only whispering You.

Previous Posts:

I Worship My Pain

It’s Not about the Bride

Let Girls Dream

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