For years, my mind has been split over myself. It must decide, as it does with all things, how to categorize me. It ponders over my value, stresses over it. For as long as I can remember, my mind has been the host of trials, endless trials through which I attempt to prove myself. In my mind’s unwittingly narrow scope, it takes my circumstances, acquaintances, and reactions into account. It attempts to balance the equation, pushing attributes and dreams from one side to the other and back again. But, today, I had a marvelous thought.
What has been achieved by this endless judgement? What have I gained by parading myself about in chains, questioning my motives and value at every turn. What if, for once, I was grateful.
It sounds almost bizarre to say of myself.
I’m grateful. For what? For me.
I am grateful for myself.
I have been here, faithfully every single day of my life. I have gotten up every morning, eaten every meal, and tucked myself in at night. I have bathed myself, nourished myself, and taken my medicines. I have worked towards accomplishments and attained them. I have made friendships and maintained them.
I have orbited the sun eighteen times, and that is worth something. The world has spun around me nearly seven thousand times, and that matters.
I have tried new things. I have devoted myself to a higher calling. I have sought God out and wrestled with Him. He has worked marvelous in me. I am a triumph. I am a grand gesture. I am an intricately crafted tapestry of love and beauty. I am a work in such strong progress, and I am grateful.
I am tired of looking at myself through the devil’s eyes.
When I see through the eyes of my Father, the world is beautiful for His sake, and I am grateful.
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