It was just a table in a crowded airport, but to me, it was a battlefield.
People streamed past us, hundreds every minute. I couldn’ t tell you about their faces or their voices because all I could see was my daughter.
Kate. My girl.
She’ s married no. But sitting there across from her, I didn’ t see a grown woman. I saw my twelveyear-old: bright, bouncy, and full of wonder. The kind of kid who makes you think she’ s either up to something or she’ s changing the world.
But this version of Kate? Something was off, and I could sense it. She was carrying something heavy. Something dark. And then she said it out loud. Not like a confession. Not like a question. She said it like it was a fact.
“ I don’ t think God can really use me. I’ m just too broken.”
And just like that, my heart cracked open. Not because she was hurting. I’ ve seen my kids hurt before— not that it gets easier to see. But because she didn’ t even recognize the lie.
“ I’ m just too broken.” She said it like she believed it, like she’ d made peace with it, like she was building her life around it.
Along the way, I’ d felt the same.
Have you felt that? Here’ s what makes lies so insidious: They feel most true when they’ re most destructive. The more a lie has shaped your life, the more natural it feels to believe it.
And this is how lies hook us: They always seem so dang true.
In that moment at the airport cafe, I wanted to go off on Kate. Did she seriously not know how amazing she is? How amazing she’ s always been? I stared at her. She stared back, daring me to preach.
This brilliant force of a human being was stuck in this disgusting lie, assuming she is a giant disappointment.
Ugh.
“ You have made this lovely life, this whole life.” That’ s what I would have said to her.
“ Look at your lovely, whole life. Look at your lovely whole self.”
That day in the airport, wanting to shake sense into her, all these questions raced like a train through my brain.
How on earth could God ever be disappointed in you?
He adores you!
And you think you are worthless?
I had to work to stifle a rant. Where did this lie come from? How on earth could you believe this? Why can’ t you see what is true? But my questions screeched to a halt in my head, interrupted by one singular, terrifying realization:
Oh shoot.
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