What Do I Have?

I’ve been thinking a lot about who I am, and maybe even more importantly, who I’m not. It hasn’t been easy to admit what I’m not. I’ve spent so much of my life trying to be everything for everyone, thinking that if I could just live up to all the roles and expectations, I’d finally get it right. But the truth is, the more I’ve tried to be everything, the more I’ve lost sight of what I actually am.

There was someone who once described their role as “a voice in the desert,” clearing the way for something greater. That line has been sitting with me because it feels so honest. They didn’t try to be more than they were. They didn’t get caught up in proving themselves or fitting into other people’s ideas of what they should be. I’ve been reflecting on that idea lately, trying to let it shape how I see my own work.

I think about the moments when I’m giving tours of 4th Dimension. I talk about the history, the stories of how it all started, and the growth we’ve seen since then. People come for events, community meetings, and fundraisers. They tell me how incredible it is, how inspired they are by what’s been built. And while I’m standing there, smiling and nodding, all I can think about are the problems.

In my head, I’m not celebrating the history or the lives we’ve impacted. I’m thinking about the breaking washer, the compliance issues, the grants I still need to write, and the contracts I have to stay on top of. I’m running through checklists of what needs fixing, building, and maintaining. I feel like a fraud because I know the truth, or at least the version of the truth I see. The version where everything is held together with duct tape and prayer.

I don’t see the beauty of what’s been built. I see the cracks in the foundation and the weight of what it takes to keep it going.

And yet, every so often, someone will point out something I’ve completely overlooked. They’ll talk about how 4th Dimension feels like a place where hope lives, or how it’s given someone they love a second chance. In those moments, I realize I’m missing it. I’m too focused on the problems to see the grace that’s already there.

Someone once said, “There is one among you whom you do not recognize.” That line hits hard because it’s honest. I think about the opportunities I’ve missed, the moments of grace I’ve overlooked, or the people I’ve failed to truly see because I was too wrapped up in my own ideas of what should be.

It reminds me of art. When I’m in the middle of creating something, all I can see are the flaws. I focus on what isn’t working and what doesn’t look right. But then someone else walks in, sees the work with fresh eyes, and notices the beauty I’ve missed. That’s the challenge for me, to stop looking for perfection and to start recognizing what’s already present.

I don’t have to be everything for everyone. I don’t have to have all the answers or fix everything all at once. What I need to do is keep showing up and staying faithful to the work in front of me. The problems don’t disappear, and the challenges don’t get easier overnight, but that doesn’t mean the beauty isn’t there.

I think about how often I’ve been so focused on my own frustrations that I’ve completely missed what’s right in front of me. I don’t recognize the good that’s already happening because I’m too busy trying to force things into place. But when I take a moment to pause, to look up, and to let go of my need to control everything, I can see glimpses of something greater.

It doesn’t mean the work stops. There’s still a breaking washer. There are still regulations, contracts, and all the little fires that need putting out. But those things don’t erase the hope, the grace, and the lives that have been changed in this place.

That’s what I keep coming back to. It’s not about what I’m not. It’s about what I am and what I’ve been called to do. Whether it’s through 4th Dimension, through my art, or even through the quiet moments of reflection, my role isn’t to be everything. It’s to make space, to keep clearing the way, and to let something bigger than me do the work I can’t.

Grace has a way of waiting for me to catch up. It doesn’t rush or push; it just stays, ready for me to notice. And when I finally do, it changes everything. It shifts my perspective, not just about the work, but about myself. It reminds me that I don’t have to do this alone.

I’m trying to let go of the noise in my head that tells me I’m not enough and the lies that say everything depends on me. I’m trying to trust that the cracks I see don’t cancel out the beauty of what’s been built. And I’m learning, slowly but surely, that grace is always there, waiting to be recognized, even when I can’t see it right away.

So I’ll keep showing up, keep doing the work, and keep trusting that what I can’t do, grace will.

And maybe that’s enough. Actually, I think it’s more than enough.