The word enough keeps ringing through my head like the word ex-girlfriend at a John Mayer concert. I don’t feel it. I don’t feel enough.
I worry I’m not enough for my siblings and parents. I worry I don’t measure up with the other two billion college graduates getting jobs and rings and children. I worry people will see me and imagine what I could have been or where I could have gone if only… I’m afraid I’m not enough and I’m only an if only.
Like Wednesdays or Jan from The Brady Bunch, I’m stuck in the middle. And it’s the middle section that’s hard to settle into, but I keep getting a whispered hint that the middle section is the one that I am called to.
It is true that I often don’t feel like I’m enough. And that’s because I’m not. I haven’t arrived; I am no one’s savior. I’m climbing with Miley and wandering with Tolkien. If I were perfect (which also happens to be my definition for the word enough, ironically), I would already be there. I would already have washboard abs. I would already be a published author. I would already be married. But I’m not. I’m in the middle. I’m working towards something, each day trying to pull a Samwise and take one step further than the day before.
It is not a measurement or an estimated time of arrival; it is the willingness to step, to dance, to trudge that counts.
And as a Christian, the word enough receives a more nuanced definition, I think. It goes through a transformation and is turned into a paradox of sorts. On the one hand, I am not enough. I sinned yesterday, I sinned today, and I will most likely sin tomorrow. Clearly, I have fallen off the boat and am wading with Rose trying to find a door to cling to. I am not enough.
But Jesus is enough. I am enough because of Jesus’s love for me. Where the equation once said, I≠ENOUGH, Jesus inserted himself rather than me. Now it is JESUS=ENOUGH. When Jesus is in me and I am out of the picture, I suddenly am enough because of the magic of love.
I will never be enough. But Jesus is. He is enough, and he relieves me of the pressure.