Let you be enough.
There are enough others, people who have skill sets you might wish you held. But, sister, let you be enough.
There are voices in our heads, competing, telling us to become bigger, set a larger table, make more food, do more so they love you more. But, mother, let you be enough.
There are those who say they welcome you to the table; yet, it still feels like you are a dog at the master’s feet willing to even take the scraps. But, daughter, let you be enough.
There are those words running thick in your veins, clanging the never ceasing migraine roller coaster. Those ones where the skin of your flesh, the soprano in your voice, the meekness of your smile say it isn’t enough. But, auntie, let you be enough.
Even the appearance of strength, those who walk with swagger in their step, hips rejoicing in the womanness of it all. And still, there is a voice gnawing that whispers ever so faintly, “You are not enough.”
In the summertime, my garden is for the tender at heart. My daughters, my three priceless wonders and their innocence frolick in this garden of fairy houses primped with dahlia petals, twigs and pinecones. Just now my oldest at the ripe age of 10 is beginning to hear that voice.
It’s not a still small voice that brings a grown man to cower on a mountain. No, it’s a voice that tells you to flee. A voice disguised as “the One.” But, this voice covers you with shame, makes you small and cower for fear of the crowd mocking you.
This voice tells you are not enough.
You are not smart enough.
You talk out of turn.
You are too quiet.
You are too brash.
You feel too much.
You aren’t warm enough.
You are not meek and mild.
You need to invite more people over, in order to be considered hospitable.
Your hospitality doesn’t look right.
You are not noticed, so why try?
You are too old to be relevant.
You are too young to be heard.
You are cute (as they pat your head), with your sweet little family, surely you don’t have opinions.
You have too many opinions.
But, sister, daughter, mother, auntie, friend, grandma, you are enough. The way you introspect so thoughtfully. The way you feel so deeply to see the hurt. The way you set your table and chop your vegetables 24 hours before people come so you can be present. The way you sporadically love by welcoming in drop in visitors. The way you stir up conversation and reflection. The way you see the deep felt need just by intuition.
You, all of you, who God made you to be is enough. Bring you to the table. Bring you to the gathering. Bring you to the conversation, because you, every bit of you, quirks and all is enough at the table.