Enough

“Come,” He whispered.  Then louder, “Come.”

So they ran, and tumbled, and shouted, to Him.  Children of all shapes and sizes… some with patched-up holes in their clothes, some with dirt smudged on their faces, some with even a twig or a leaf in their hair, leftover from trees climbed.

They didn’t fit the mold, or the image, of what nearby Discerning Adults thought He deserved.  So, “shoo,” they said to the children.  And waved them away.  He didn’t have time to play; He couldn’t possibly, not with barefooted, messy, complicated, loud children.

“Let them come,” He said firmly.  Then, with a smile as wide as heaven itself, and strong arms open to hold, to play with all who dared to enter, He said, “Come.”

“As you are.  Come.”  No recommendations, no requirements, no expectations.  The only requirement for receiving His love was this: to come to Him.

And they came.  They came with their laughter and they came with their fears.  They came with their feet stinky from treading the dirty streets.  They came to play, and shout, and laugh, and pick flowers with Him.  “Watch me!”  They spun cartwheels and shouted to the One who watched the stars come into being.  He smiled, gentle eyes crinkled in the corners, and He watched them.

They came to be loved.  Just as they were.  And loved they were.

And He noticed the one who was hiding by the tree; the one who longingly watched the play, but who was too shy to approach.  You see, she was a little bit different than the others.  But He smiled, and He waved, and He beckoned her.  “Come,” He said.  “Come.  You are enough, just as you are.”  *

*****************************************************

“Lose that extra weight now, while you can… while you’re young.”  The words would still echo in my ears, if I hadn’t learned to turn them off by now.

The scale sent its viewer to bed for the rest of the day; but not before a few sharp expletives were cried out at the unfortunate object, because its needle betrayed the truth and pointed two pounds in the wrong direction.

The woman I am now understands that heavy burdens were being shouldered.  But the twelve year-old girl I was listened.  And watched.  And started losing weight.

Comparing myself with the girls on the bus didn’t help at all.  The ones who sat in the front, on the right… knit together, talking and laughing.  It was springtime, and their bare arms all seemed perfectly skinny… all exactly alike.  If I looked like that, maybe I could sit with them.  Maybe I would have friends.

Until the weight loss became enough of a concern that a trip to the doctor was planned.  White-coated, bespectacled, he barely had time enough to glance at the chart, let alone the person.  “Take her home.  Don’t discuss it anymore.  She’ll get over it.”  And out of the room he huffed, clearly with more important things to attend to.

And I did get over it.  I am one of the fortunate few for whom a distorted body image was “just a phase.”  There are many who tread a much more difficult, lengthy, and worrisome path to recovery.

There are many women among us who gingerly walk the path that they hope will lead to Just Enough.  On one side, there’s the fear that we’ll fall off the edge and into Too Much.  On the other, we face the menacing bully Not Enough.

**************************************

A new school year has begun, and with it, the “temptation to be relevant,” as Henri Nouwen** so aptly put it.  We feel it, and our children feel it.

Mamas, isn’t it true that when they’re growing in our bellies, and when we hold them for the first time, we think of nothing but the love we’ll share, the happy memories we’ll make.  But then something happens… performance happens.  Expectations happen.  Comparisons happen.  And we start to worry about all the other enoughs out there.

I know, because I see you, mama.  I see you worrying over which school is best for your child.  I see you worrying.  But I also see you tucking sheets extra carefully and giving one more kiss at the end of the long day.  I see you whispering you are worthy of love. I see you loving.

I see you, sister.  I see you fretting over whether your little picky eater is getting the vitamins she needs.  I see you fretting.  But I remember how you smoothed her hair just so, with a smile that said you are special.  I see you loving.

And I see you, friend.  I see you wondering if your son has enough friends, and letting guilt sneak in over those missed playdates.  I see you wondering.  But I see you talking to him in that sweet voice that is for him alone, that voice that says you are mine.  I see you loving.

I feel my own feeble heart, the one that feels guilty because I didn’t take omega-3s while I was pregnant, the one that worries if that excitable child of mine will ever slow down, the one that feels bad for all the things I haven’t been able to give them.  But I feel my face soften, and my voice slow down, and my eyes smile, when I go to talk to that child who’s just finished the mother of all tantrums, when I go to tell her, you are good.  You are enough.  And you are loved, just as you are.

I see all of us mamas, and all the things we wonder and worry and lose sleep over.  I see the worries we talk about together… the discipline issues, the eating habits, the potty accidents.  And I see the ones we mull over privately… feeling bad that we can’t afford this new toy or that pretty dress… worrying because they saw us fall apart that stressful day… wondering if the choices we’ve made for our children were the right ones.

Take heart, friends.  In this busy, modern world of worries and fears and schedules and to-do lists, one thing tops them all.

We can love them.  We can protect them from the fears and the demands of this world by our love.  A love that reflects His love; because, after all, a mother’s love is such a powerful thing, it can only be a gift from up above.   A love that simply whispers, “Come.”  A love that says: home is safe, these arms are always open, these ears are always listening; a love that gives them armor to wear as they face an often-cruel world.  Knowing that they are unconditionally loved, always and no matter what, can lead them to the highest mountaintops, can carry them through the darkest valleys.

So mamas… know that what you are doing every day matters.  Dishes and diapers and trips to the park and calming tantrums… all of it matters.  We won’t worry about the size of her jeans or his grade on that math test or her performance at the recital.  We’ll offer tickles at bedtime, peanut butter sandwiches cut just the right way.  We’ll give one more hug, one more kiss, one more smile.  One more whispered “Yes,” to a hollered, “Watch me, mom!”

Even if they aren’t fast enough… or smart enough… or skinny enough, they will be loved.  See, in the face of a mama’s love, there is no enough.

 

 

 

“I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well” (Psalm 139:14).

 

 

Loving them as they are together,

Laura Jane

 

*Paraphrase of Luke 18:15-17

** (In the Name of Jesus, 1989)