I Am Enough

I spent last Sunday night in the emergency room. At around 9 o’clock in the evening, I called my husband into the bedroom where I was lying down. When he asked what I needed I told him I wasn’t sure, just that I needed him. I am not a needy person, and may have never spoken those words in our fifteen years together, so he understood he needed to stay. He placed my hand in one of his and put the other hand over it. Then he pulled down the sheet and took one look at my chest and the inflammation that had so rapidly invaded my body and called my aunt to come watch our kids. The antibiotics that the doctors had given me had done nothing to stop the steadily expanding ring of fire that enveloped my chest. I hate to be a burden on anyone, I don’t like to wallow in self-pity (although as a child, I rather enjoyed pity parties), so he made the decision I didn’t feel worthy to make. Long story short, I respectfully denied admission to the hospital to be pumped full of antibiotics – I have been on and off those for over two years to no avail – and just asked them to cut me, relive the mounting pressure and send me home. I was not going to let this invader cancel my vacation – again. Last May, a four day stay in the hospital caused me to delay a vacation and my kids to miss their first flights, and left my right arm permanently scarred from the IV and massive dose of medicine. “Not again,” I told myself. The doctor obliged and we got home in the early hours of Monday morning.

Monday morning was spent doing the work that I had to do before I could leave town, and the afternoon was spent grocery shopping and packing up our camper. Monday evening we loaded up the kids and drove three hours south to the coastal town of Watsonville, CA for our district camp meeting. I needed this week away. I needed to turn my cell phone off, to lose track of its whereabouts. I turned on my vacation response on my email and I checked out. I listened to my body when it said “Enough!” I left the dishes in the sink, and never cleaned the table off enough to sit and eat at it. I am a doer. I don’t embrace idleness and rarely relax. I don’t like clutter or chaos, I thrive on organized cleanliness. But my body was screaming at me to relax and rather than override my internal voice, I chose to listen. I chose to be still.

On Wednesday evening at the close of the church service, I bowed my head and heard the faintest whisper. I am enough. I let the thought come and go. And a few moments later I heard it again. I am enough. I paused and considered the statement. Rather than push the thought away, I spoke the words out loud. “I am enough.” It was just a whisper, but I repeated it several times. I didn’t believe it, but I said it anyway. On Thursday evening, the church service came to a close and again I stood and bowed my head. Tears falling silently down my face, I heard it again. I am enough. I am enough. Almost like a mantra those words repeated in my head. I lifted my hands and shielded my face and said the words out loud. I repeated them until it was no longer a question, but a statement.

I am enough.

Much like the rain cleanses the earth, my tears began to cleanse my mind. I have always felt second class – never worthy to have my opinion matter or my feelings considered. I was just the child of drug-addicted parents who had been used, abused and left to fend for herself. And then I became an addict-alcoholic. People didn’t see me, they saw through me. I had been content to live in the shadows of others, afraid to shine.

Perfectionism stole my light, fear took my voice, and shame bowed my head.

On Friday night I didn’t stand. I leaned forward and rested my elbows on the cold, metal chair in front of me and let my head fall into my hands. I didn’t speak, I just sat and listened. I listened to the hundreds of people praying around me, and to the sound of the wind blowing through the roll up doors to my left. And then I felt the gentle hands of a man on my head, and I heard “God does not require perfection.” I let the tears fall as the man continued to talk about seasons in our life. And then from the pulpit thundered “God isn’t waiting for you to be perfect. He is ready to use you as you are.” I stood to my feet and cried out “I am enough!” And in that moment, I believed it for the first time in my thirty-seven years on this earth.

Last night I had a group of friends over for a book club. My house wasn’t perfect, the floor wasn’t vacuumed, and rather than spend time I didn’t have preparing a home-cooked meal, I picked up tamales and store-bought brownies. I didn’t worry about the dogs that barked or the use of paper plates. It was freeing. I enjoyed the evening and didn’t rush to clean up, leaving my guests to spend time with my dishwasher. I am enough. I don’t need to sparkle. If I am still, if I listen, if I allow Him to shine through me, I can be a reflection of His light.

Surely I have behaved and quieted myself, as a child that is weaned of his mother: my soul is even as a weaned child.

Psalm 131:2 (KJV)

I am content and at peace. As a child lies quietly in its mother’s arms, so my soul is peaceful within me.