It’s her. The one who tells me I’m doing it wrong. I’m too much. That no one cares.
“Bad mom” she whispers.
“Lazy” she moans.
“Not good enough” she challenges.

If only ear plugs could reach deep enough to silence her. The voice of all the failures. Past and promised.

With fears cupped in hands oh hope I offer up her whispers to a God who has already warned me of this voice.

Voice that lured Eve to Apple.
Voice that brought Bathsheba to David.
Voice that convinced Judas that grace was a lie.
Voice that cried for the crucifixion of Christ.

In attempt to silence her groan I listen to the voices of love that surround me.
A husband demanding I see how far I’ve come.
Friends cheering my hopes.
A God who is I AM and always will be.

With an understanding I am no better or worse for what I produce I hold close the words of the ones whom I love. Allowing their voices to stand in combat with the voice of doubt.