There is a longing in my heart that my life will make a difference. Otherwise, what am I here for?
Perhaps there is not some great purpose in this world for my life. Many people pass through with few being touched by anything great. Yet the longing remains.
Could I live a life of mediocrity? Can I find peace and purpose in the little things? Does this longing mean that this life – my husband, my son, my pets, my house – isn’t enough for me?
I hope that is not how those closest to me feel – that they are not enough for me. This longing for more, for restoration, for new starts… does it take away from my love of what is right before me?
There is joy in the moments, which is often hidden in my fears and regrets, in my striving for wholeness, for completion. The quiet moments, which allow me to reflect. The sun shining through the window. The cat, who climbs on my lap, and purrs with such contention. Walks with my son. Time with my husband.
There are moments that are lost as I cringe from the crowd, and fall apart over the drop of water on the floor. When the world attacks me, and I cry for relief, release, something other – how then do I turn, and tell those close to me that they are enough.
Though I ache and weep for my lost children, I see the one who remained, and he is enough.
Scared, and hidden, and quiet, there is much I wished for him that he could not be – but he is enough. I would not trade him. I would not change him. He was given to me, and I am thankful, and he is enough.
Years ago, before my husband and I were married, he asked me – what if he couldn’t give me children. He knew my longing for them, and it was an honest question, and I replied with the most honest answer I could: “Even if I knew that we would never have children, I would still want to marry you.”
Twelve years have passed, and the truth of that statement has come to pass, and I have been tested – without children, is he enough?
He is my anchor, a constant, steady, kind, loyal safe harbour in a frightening chaotic world. Though I say it with pain, I would answer the same. Knowing all I know, I would still choose to marry him, and he is enough.
When my children were moved, when the adoption failed, when all of my dreams were torn from me… it is like my world became small. Closed in with this tiny family, who each moved in separate directions to deal with our pain.
And that smallness – it is hard to live with, it is hard to settle, it is hard to accept.
When I seek to find a way forward, for healing from my pain, for something… something… anything to fill that hole that was left the day my children were taken away, I hope… so deep within me I hope that never for one moment do I leave my husband or my son feeling like they are not enough.
For I wouldn’t trade them for the world.