On the Mystery and Wonder of Enough

Lucas just walked through the door this afternoon. He finished his final day of eighth grade. He will now tell people that he’s headed into high school, freshman year. Emma is at the nail salon with a friend. She’s finished drivers ed, her freshman year is behind her, and in a few short weeks the two of them will get on an airplane and fly to Chile, into the dead of winter, to see friends and family, to laugh and to cry, to eat their favorite foods. I will stay home and count the days until their return.

I sit at my desk and remember the days, reflect on the hopes and the dreams. The final days of kindergarten, first grade, the teddy bear picnic, the hope and the delight of early motherhood. My decision to sell my beloved home and move to Chile. The letting go… the coming home … the shattered dreams …

John and I went to Sacramento last week for a conference, hoping, almost expecting something specific from the experience. We came home disappointed, slightly stunned, and definitely baffled by God.

Who is this God I’ve served my entire life? I read Scripture almost daily, and still at forty-one, I shrug. Some days, I know who this God is and I love this God with my whole being. I have no doubts, only confidence that everything will be good and I am beloved. Other days, doubt and worry encroach, they threaten joy. And then there are the dark days when I am nothing but bewildered. These are the days when I lift my hands to the heavens, acknowledge that every single bit of this life is simply beyond me. I do not have the answers or the solutions for anyone’s God questions. I do not have three quick and easy steps to make it all better.

I have nothing but a choice to sit inside the bewilderment and find that brief moment of rest, or harden my heart and distance myself.

My son laughs and makes plans for his eighth grade graduation ceremony. My daughter goes to town to get her nails done. My husband sighs in frustration over all of life’s disappointments, and then breathes in making his decision to be thankful, to be content.

Do I understand anything? Not much … but maybe after all these years I’m beginning to understand a few things …

I understand that I love my children and my husband with every last fibre in my being. That they do not have to perform for me. That my love is strong and rich and deep and that they simply have it. It is theirs. Not for what they bring me or for what they give me, but because they are mine to love, mine to adore, mine to enjoy.

I understand that this extravagant love I feel for Emma and Lucas, the love I have for John is nothing compared to the incomparable love that God feels for me. That God loves me with depth and breadth, with never-ending kindness. I understand that love is mysterious and wondrous. I see that all the times I want God to do something for me, to act on my behalf, God is probably half wishing I’d come home and be content to simply rest in God’s presence, no expectations, no requests.

My children are growing up. Lucas has a party to attend tonight. They have a party tomorrow. They have their activities and their schedules, their outings, and every day they need my company less than they needed it before. Maybe not. Maybe we all need one another’s company, despite the growing and the changing, despite the activities.

We sat at the kitchen table last night chatting, laughing about life’s comings and goings, enjoying each other.

… They are mine to love, mine to enjoy, these beautiful gifts. We belong to each other. We extend and give love to one another not out of obligation, not out of duty, but out of delight. My children, my husband — they delight me. They are delightful to me, and that is enough.

And here is the glorious mystery. If love includes this lush delight, does God not feel this way for me? Should I not feel this way for God? Should I not rest in the ease, in the quiet restful knowing that we belong together? Should I not delight myself in that?

This is the mystery worth all the bewilderment in the world, worth all the unanswered prayers and misunderstandings that I have struggled to reconcile my entire life. God is here, and it is enough. 

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