failure.

I don't remember at what point in my life it began to happen. This unshakeable feeling of inadequacy.  Perhaps it's always been there, stirring within me. I was, after all, partly molded and formed by society - a society where having it all meant success and having it all together meant popularity. A society where happiness is judged by the amount of things in ones pocket and a small number on the scale. A society where somehow things outside of one's control were the only source of a sense of worthiness.

I can't pinpoint exactly when I began believing it. When I allowed myself to think this thought and then grab hold of it - tightly. Allowing it to continually make its unwanted path in my brain and snake it's way down into my very soul. This thought that can so easily trump all other truths. Even when my mind knows the difference in what is true and what is not, the thought is there. Waiting to prove itself right when everything else seems to go wrong.

I am a failure.

To fail at something still lets me blame the circumstances. I failed because of this reason. I failed because that reason was outside of my control. But to actually become a failure - this kind of thought can slice down to the very marrow of my bone. Because when this creeping thought rears its ugly head, it's not just questioning my ability or my capacity or even my surrounding forces. It questions my very being. The core of who I am. My already fragile, weak, vulnerable heart.

Am I enough? At the end of the day, when all the success and popularity and happiness melt away, am I left with the conviction that yes - even without all these things - I am still enough?

These days it feels more like a defeating, saddening sigh. I've failed at one thing or another and because of that, I must be a failure. Isn't that how it works?

I didn't check off everything on my to-do list today. Fail.
I disappointed this friend or that person. Fail.
I didn't give money to the man begging on the street. Fail.
I snapped at my teammate this morning. Fail.
I didn't hang out with a single high schooler this week. Fail.
I watched an entire season of Arrow on Netflix and didn't open a single book. Fail.
I didn't wake up early to run. Fail.
I forgot to bring something important. Fail.
I didn't engage in conversation like I should have. Fail.

Most of these things are seemingly small and unimportant and simply part of life. But believe it long enough and it becomes a habit. Believe it long enough and suddenly - I am not enough. When I allow these thoughts to grow deep roots around my heart and overflow out into my words and actions, I lose. I may not realize it at first - I shake it off with the first available mind numbing tool I can find. But inevitable, it returns. With force. Powerful force. Because you see, when I feed this thought by a simple numb, I give it space to grow. And what it grows into is a disbelief in very person I am created to be. The person He created me to be.

And when I question the creation, I question the Creator. I question His goodness, His graciousness, His sufficiency. The real question is not - am I enough? The answer for me will always be no. There is always something I can find to better or fix or do. The real question washes over me - is Christ enough for me? Is He enough?

If my answer is not yes - an everyday, resounding, confidant yes - my days will be confined to defeating sighs and a continual search for something to fill that empty ache. If my answer is not yes, I will continue to lose every single day. He is always enough - even on the days where my failure seems to be all I can think about. The question is actually not in His ability or capability to be enough. The question lies in my heart of hearts - do I believe Christ is enough?

And today, I want to choose to believe it.