I don’t think you would ever suspect me- the cheerful, ultimate optimist, glass half-full, (must I confess) annoyingly perky without coffee personality. I wake up at 5:30 each morning to go work out, eat healthy (except for chocolate splurges), read, adore my husband and son, love my extended family, worship the Almighty God. Everything is Perfect.


Especially everything I can control, which is…everything. I have a great relationship with God because I spend time with Him, adore Him, strive to learn more about Him through His Word. I have an incredible relationship with my husband because I love him well. My son is well-nurtured, slathered with love, read to, talked with, enjoys a well-rounded diet all in the hopes that he will ”turn out well.”

Watch out if you’re in the airport with me. I’m the skinny lady in heels chasing my two-year-old and laughing hysterically like I don’t have a care in the world.

And I don’t.

While chasing my two-year-old in the terminal, I formulated fourteen plans to ensure our flight is a safe one. My mind is at ease. Regardless of whether terrorists hijack our plane or the pilot chokes on his pizza this Momma is making sure her baby boy makes it home.

To our perfect home where everyone loves well, eats well, sleeps well, and lives, well, perfectly.

Except me.

Because I’m not perfect. Because there are days I feel annoyed with everyone. Because some mornings I don’t want to work out. Because there are days when life is too crazy and regardless how hard I strive to greet toddler animosity with cheerful candor I can’t.There are days when I need the floors to stay clean for longer than five minutes.

There are days when the reality that I am not enough is so blatantly obvious my sinful nature feels unclothed and raw.

The problem with my perfection is me. I can’t love my husband perfectly (though I desperately want to). I’m not a perfect Mom. My relationship with God grows stagnant at times. And if my son’s life depends on whether I came up with the perfect plan to survive an eventful airplane ride, he’s in big trouble.

I am not enough.

I hate this. Perhaps my problem is not a problem of perfection as much as it is one of idolatry. I want to be enough. I want to be able to protect my loved ones. I want my husband and son to know selfless love at all times. I want to be intelligent enough to know their every need, hurt, secret wounds, and private joys.

It’s almost amusing to picture. My pefect protection boils down to whether or not I (115 pound weakling) can fiend off the menacing figures I’m always on the look-out for. My offering of perfect selfless love depends on whether I feel like playing ”kick-a-ball” (as my two-year-old calls soccer) for the 30th time. I’m not strong enough, selfless only when it’s convenient, and my intellect needs a major overhaul. In fact, while writing this, I am unsure of how this could possibly still be a struggle for me.

I am not enough!

But I want to be. But I can’t be. But I never will be… enough.

I need someone to be enough. Someone has to be able to bear the pain this world can inflict. Someone has to love my family with perfect love- they are such beautiful individuals. I need Someone.

Someone Perfect.

I need Him who knew no sin to become sin so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God. (2 Corinthians 5:21). I need His righteousness to become my righteousness. Because I am not enough. I desperately need a Savior. His perfection is my perfection. My perfection is nothing more than half-hearted attempts at selfish, self-centered love.

The apostle Paul says, ”But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us,” (2 Corinthians 4:7).

To show that the surpassing power belongs to God- not me. I’m just a broken, fragile jar of clay. A 115-pound weakling. The glory, the power, perfect righteousness are His alone. I want to know this, to rest in Him. Because it’s too hard to be enough.


But He is.

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