I’m doing my absolute best to keep reminding myself that I need to be at least 99 percent responsible for making Xola Ntumy happy.
My happiness cannot be external. It must be 101 percent internal birthed the Holy Spirit and nourished by the word of God which has become flesh and walked on the earth.
See. I can’t be 100 percent honest about what’s been occupying my mind lately. I don’t tweet about it. And I don’t talk too much about it either. But it gets talked about.
A least a little. To God. In prayer. And to my shepherd a little.
Amongst all the other ministerial and life things. There’s this. It’s a lot of emotional frustration.
It’s a lot of disappointment at people’s behavior. I’m constantly being let down. I expect them to behave better. To love more. To care more about me. To talk to me more. And I am constantly having to tell myself to die. To tell my desires to find other sinks. Because this spout isn’t flowing and it still won’t even if I told it to.
I can’t tell them I don’t like how I’m being treated. No. No one likes to hear that they’re doing a bad job. Are they really oblivious, I wonder. Do they really not know how much hurt I am being made to feel? I am constantly turning a blind eye.
It’s several little discrepancies between us that are threatening the tiny vial of love left in my soul for other human beings. So many things that I don’t like. And at several points during the day, I’m weighed down, thinking, “maybe the negatives outweigh the positives”. We’re disagreeing. Let’s leave. Let’s forget this. I’m scared. I’m scared it won’t end well. And I’m telling myself that it is worth trusting in God.
And I keep a really brave face. I never admit I’m struggling. I keep joking around. Because I choose peace. I choose the flow. I choose the happy. Am I loving or am I pretending? Will the real me swim to the surface one day and break free?
Does it matter that I am completely unsatisfied and dying on the inside? Does it matter at all?
Here are the things that matter. Jesus Christ and his death on the cross and his resurrection on the third day.
Yes. Ministry. Attempting great things for God. The things I want so badly in my spirit and which my flesh fights against.
I am dying slowly on the inside. I’m no longer that girl. And all the things she liked to do and hear and feel, are gone. She’s been left stuck on the other side of the prison wall. Where there is no escape.
So I’m here. Is love a complete death and surrender? Because this is what it feels like to me.