My need to feel loved causes me to try to earn it. I work to reshape myself into someone more qualified—a celebrity, a Cosmo woman, a business CEO, a New York Times best-selling author, or a Mother Theresa-type. Whatever combination of masks works.
No, the obstacle to you living larger—using your talents and the wisdom you’ve gained to help other people—isn’t resources or circumstances.
I was sliding down into sickness of soul. I needed immediate intervention.
Why would God let a woman who had already suffered so much, die like that?
I vaguely noticed a strange noise outside my car. It’s probably nothing. I pulled up to a stop sign and glanced over at the driver next to me leaning forward to get my attention: "Your tire is flat," he mouthed, pointing to my rear wheel.
Who’s fighting for me? Jesus. Who’s the enemy? Houses, cars, clothes—stuff. Famous people who seek my allegiance. Rampant desire for youth or beauty or the love of another human. Anything I rely on, settle into, or yearn for that’s, well…temporary. What’s the prize? My heart. What am I going to do?
A man’s philosophic expression filled the screen. As one of the assemblers, he explained to Spurlock that they met together to “focus on something bigger than the individual.” Then a close-up of a middle-aged, blond-haired woman. Her voice trembled with emotion as she spoke. “We don’t need God or religion. We need to know we are here for each other.” I was done in...