He’s on my side of the bed and I’m on his,
my ratty old t-shirt bearing the legend ORU Freshman Council
is a castoff from my politically-minded sister more than 10 years ago
(because I was not the one in student government, oh, no,
I was just the one making out with the VP of Student Services in his office after hours).
Between us is the smallest babe of that former-VP-of-Student-Services,
and she is content and clean, bathed -
oh, that clean baby smell in the downy hair and, gracious,
footie jammies and seriously, look at her eyelashes, look at them! –
drifting towards the coast of dreams with her tummy full.
I’m thinking about my stupid nose ring.
I caught it on a terry cloth towel and yanked it clean out.
I can’t get it back in and so I’ll have to go to a piercing shop this morning
and gracious, what if it closed already? Will I have to get it re-pierced?
And he whispers across the worn out sheets from Winners,
“Sometimes you still look 19, you know, like right now.”
“Oh, really?” I laugh easily.
“Is it the crows feet? The laugh lines? The white hair at my temples?
What is it shouting “youth” at you right about now, you blind man?”
“You’re happy,” he says simply.
And I realise, yes, yes, I am.
I’ve been happy for months and months now, even years now, so it’s not just a fluke.
It’s no longer me fighting for a few days of happy in the midst of a lot of exhaustion
and acedia and work and tiredness and overwhelmed-ness.
It’s a bone-deep joy in knowing
He is enough
and the work he has given me right now is enough
and I am enough for us all.
It’s true and it took time,
a lot of Holy-Spirit-breathed-miracle-wind moving me out and along
and a lot of me setting up the sails in anticipation of this very wind blowing someday.
And now we’re laying here,
quiet and happy, grinning at each other in the dim,
even though nothing in our life
looks like we thought it would.
Enough is my OneWord for 2011. I’ve been writing about it throughout the year, finding the ways that He is enough and I am too.