"My depth and complexity confuse people. I should be simpler, easier to understand."
How it sounds in your head: I see eyes glaze over when I try to explain what I'm really thinking. So I've learned to give surface answers, keep it light, pretend I'm simpler than I am. Because the full version of me feels like a puzzle no one wants to solve.
"How precious also are Your thoughts to me, O God! How great is the sum of them! If I should count them, they would be more in number than the sand."
-- Psalm 139:17-18Rejection by people who wanted Instagram captions, not whole novels, from your soul.
People have literally said 'you think too much' or 'why do you complicate things?' Small talk gets rewarded; depth gets met with discomfort or distance.
She was described as 'notable'—a woman of depth, influence, complexity. When her promised son died, she didn't simplify her grief or her theology—she confronted Elisha with 'Did I ask for a son?' He didn't dismiss her complexity; he raised her son instantly.
I REFUSE the lie that my complexity is a problem to solve. IT IS WRITTEN that God's thoughts are more numerous than sand, and I reflect His infinite nature in my depth. The Shunamite woman wasn't praised for being simple—she was notable, complex, and God raised her son in response to her bold, layered faith. IT IS WRITTEN that deep calls unto deep, and my complexity calls to the depths of God Himself. I will not flatten myself for shallow relationships. I am blessed with the wisdom of God, the mind of Christ, and the blessing of Abraham—provision and understanding follow my complexity because I am His.
Your Father isn't confused by your layers—He wrote every page. While you're apologizing for being a novel in a world of tweets, He's treasuring every chapter, every footnote, every complexity you think makes you hard to love.