Reading
But now, God’s Message, the God who made you in the first place, Jacob, the One who got you started, Israel: “Don’t be afraid, I’ve redeemed you. I’ve called your name. You’re mine. When you’re in over your head, I’ll be there with you. When you’re in rough waters, you will not go down. When you’re between a rock and a hard place, it won’t be a dead end—because I am God, your personal God, The Holy of Israel, your Savior.
Isaiah 43:1-4 (The Message)
Reflection
Hi. My name’s Michael. And I’m a hot mess.
Like a gravy volcano in the middle of a perfect bed of pomme purée on a table of pressed linen kind of mess.
Fun, savory, imaginative, messy, gloopy, rustic yet refined—and probably still going to bed without dessert.
I want to be known. I want to be seen.
But I also build walls like Helm’s Deep.
I’ll protect myself and the ones I love with the ferocity of a mama bear and the charge of a bull moose through snow if I feel betrayed.
And yet—it makes me want to cry. It makes me feel alone. Unworthy.
But it’s also what makes me me. It’s how I’ve learned to feel unique.
It’s not super fun being a unicorn whose colors are the blue and black of bruising.
But still, a unicorn.
Like I said—a mess.
What I’ve just described, in my own messy way, is my Enneagram tri-type: 4-8-6.
The Enneagram, like any good mirror, helps us see ourselves more clearly—the ways we love, protect, fear, and hope.
It gives language to the patterns we repeat and the longings we carry, and it helps us trace how God has been present through them all.
I crave authenticity and am almost allergic to superficiality.
I’m wary of control and yet I crave it too.
It’s a lot of fun being a mess.
*rolls eyes*
But it’s taken years—therapy, community, failure, grace—to reach a peace with that word mess.
And naming it has been freeing.
It’s allowed me to see God at work in my life, to accept the inordinate grace of Jesus, and to make space for the Spirit to heal what I could never fix.
None of it is perfect. None of it is linear. But it’s real.
It’s my story—caught up in the larger story of God redeeming the world.
And when Scripture says that heaven is a place of no more tears, no more pain, no more hunger—I can see glimpses of that already breaking through in my life.
Your story carries that same hope.
God is at work in your imperfections and in your courage, in the chaos and in the calm.
Self-discovery, confession, inventory—all these practices are acts of co-writing with God, small lines in the ongoing story of grace.
The book on us isn’t finished.
And as Frederick Buechner said, “The worst thing isn’t the last thing.”
Prayer
You know me, God — all of me.
And still, you love me.
Thank you, Jesus.
I’m learning to love me, too,
and you’re showing me the way.
Heal me, God.
I’m ready to do the work.
Amen.
