Shame On You
My eight year old daughter reprimanded my four year daughter for misbehaving. I scolded the elder one, letting her know it was not her responsibility to decide whether or not her sister was being naughty.
She looked up at me, unconvinced.
“But mom,” she asked with great sincerity. “How will she know she’s bad if no one tells her?”
How will she, indeed?
Who teaches us that we’re bad, that we’re not enough?
And why the hell do we believe it?
The answers come, I suppose, from people with far more degrees than I have.
Except this I so know:
I’m not bad.
Neither are you.
And I don’t even know you.
But I know you are created to love and to be loved.
All of us feel insecure.
And so they point fingers at you and you and you and you.
Telling you to believe the lie.
You are enough.