Am I Enough?

By Janna Becker

‘You are enough’

‘She believed she could, so she did.’

‘She needed a hero…so that’s what she became.’

When Erin asked if I would ‘guest blog’ for her, I couldn’t have been more honoured. My mind ran through a thousand options of what I could write. What wisdom did the world need me to share? What superior knowledge could I impart? After running through my internal file labelled ‘Things that I’ll preach on one day’, I couldn’t work out where to start. So I sat down with the file, a cup of tea and God (in that order). I humbly asked His opinion on which of my deep, meaningful ideas would be the best to share. Predictably, God was silent. He tends to do that when I approach Him with the cart before the horse. I have learned that when I try to engage the God of All Wisdom in applying my suggestions, He finds it more expedient to wait until I sort out my priorities before He speaks. This is a well-worn path for me, so after 32 days of God, Creator of All not choosing from my list, I got the picture. I asked for His thoughts, rather than His thoughts on my agenda. (Spoiler Alert: this is a much faster, and much less humbling way to hear the voice of God).

Having gotten myself out of the way, the irony was hard to miss as my gracious, Heavenly Dad reminded me of the overarching theme that threads through my 8+ years of parenting. And it is this:

I am not enough

I’m not. For all that pop psychology wants me to let go of perfectionism and ‘Mommy-guilt”, their solution is wrong. Damagingly so. I am 42 years old. Old enough to know that I certainly don’t have all the answers - or some days, any of them. (Because 7:30am isn’t a great time for my 8 Year old to open with “Mummy, there is monarchy, democracy and a republic: what other types of government are there?”. Let Mummy finish her tea first, honey.)

I have 3 kids: 2 girls and a boy. Among them, we have anxiety, giftedness, tenacity, humour, autism, charm-that-gets-me-out-of-trouble, joy in the small things & deep emotions in all of the things. All packaged up in what feels like a collective agreement that the grown ups have no idea and so we should always try to help them by doing what WE think is best. TBH, my husband and I regularly feel that they might be onto something.

My husband and I love our kids. We research how to raise them, pray for them, validate them and discipline them. We fill their world with godly people to influence them, and we work hard to make sure they know that nothing they do would stop us from loving them. And yes, they do, at times, take this as a challenge. But you know what? Contrary to everything we read, contrary to all the studies done, contrary to what we desperately want… This. Is. Not. Enough.

I have read so many blogs and books that aim to highlight how important attachment and love are, even in the face of too much screen time and not enough vegetables. And I have come to the conclusion that while these factors do, indeed protect and ground our kids the reality is that on most days, it’s not enough. It’s good. It’s desperately necessary. But just loving my kids isn’t enough.

We have all agreed that it takes a village to raise a child. (And we have all wondered, with the popular meme, where that village is so we can drop our children off there). My kids are blessed abundantly and lavishly with our village. Aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, godparents, teachers, nannies, leaders and the all important ‘mum friends’, who pick them up when I’m too disorganised to get to school on time. Their ‘village’ is more like a bustling metropolis. This village has taught me to ask for help, and to accept it when it is offered. In my village, we all agree that we can’t do it alone, and that fact doesn’t make us bad parents or failures; it makes us wise and less tired. I could write books on the values and qualities necessary to a child-raising village. And if, after this thesis, Erin asks me back, I might just do that.

A couple of thousand years ago, there was a meeting. A bit like a conference. 5,000 men (plus their wives and children) gathered to hear the visiting preacher. If there was a Conference Director, they aren’t recorded in the annals of history. Which is probably a good thing, given that they had overlooked seating, OH&S crowd control, childcare facilities and, perhaps most spectacularly, they had over looked the importance of catering. 5000 people (plus wives & children) all crowded together and hungry. Not an audience I would choose to preach to. Typically, the preacher’s closest friends panicked and pointed the finger. (Incidentally, this won’t actually solve any problems, especially practical ones such as food. Ask any parent who has forgotten to bring snacks to school pick-up).

These conference attendees grew restless and demanding. None of them seemed to think that trusting this teacher, who has a proven history of miracle-making, was a good option. As happens so often, it took a child to step up. By virtue of not being a grown-up, and therefore unlikely to be expected to solve problems, this child stepped up. Presumably, the child had the brains to understand that 5 bread rolls and 2 fishes were probably inadequate. Maybe this child just wanted to make sure the preacher had something to eat. Maybe this child thought that others might follow his or her lead, and the first ever Church Pot-Luck would be enjoyed. Whatever he (or she) was thinking, we have no record of this child trying to convince others or, more pertinently, himself, that this packed lunch was enough for what the crowd needed. Even if this child’s ‘village’ had pitched in with casseroles and much needed chocolate, the fact remained:it was not enough.

As an over achiever and a shameless lover of all things ‘Pinterest’, I have been in the place where I think that I can be enough. If I just make one more ‘routine chart’ or print one more set of colourful house rules then our family might be more organised. If I pray more, and go to MOPS, and demonstrate good body image…we all have our own lists.

As a mother of children with additional needs, I have been dropped into a place where humility is like air. I have no idea how to comfort & empower a child who rarely goes a day without tears of confusion over ‘being different’. I don’t know what to say to the sibling who - let’s be real - IS overlooked because I’m too focused on pre-emptive meltdowns. I don’t know what to think, do or pray. Most days, I am confronted with the truth, the reality, that I am not enough. And I’m yet to meet a mother who doesn’t hold that fear, or recognise her own lack of capability and competence.

In the face of the chaos and guesswork that is modern-day parenting, the temptation to grab hold of the ‘I am enough” life raft is high. But that’s all it is: a life raft. In a very big ocean. It might save my life initially, but it cannot feed, shelter & grow me like I need. Like my kids need.

I have found such freedom and hope in knowing that I only have 5 loaves and 2 fishes. Heck, that wouldn’t even feed my son, let alone the 5000 (plus wives and children) questions, fears and problems that my kids face. That I face. That child did not have enough to feed a hungry mob. And he didn’t try to believe that he did. That reality of perspective allowed him to humbly approach the Son of God, and to trust that somehow, it might help. He didn’t tell Jesus how to make it more, he didn’t justify or apologise for only having that much. He just handed over what he had.

Some days, I have a banquet. And some days, my loaves are mouldy and my fish are smelly. Jesus doesn’t care. He is under no illusion that I am enough. And, if I shut up and listen, I will hear him reminded me over and over and over that he has no expectations that I will ever be enough. In my weakness, His power is made evident and perfect. This is the story of the Bible. Of Abraham and Sarah, of the method of destroying the walls of Jericho, of the burning bush and of the disciples throwing their nets out when there were clearly no fish. God has used my foolishness and my inadequacy to put my wisdom and society’s platitudes, to shame. In admitting that I have not enough, and being humble enough to still bring him the pitiful amount I have, he has saved me - and my kids - from the life raft and brought me to green pastures and still waters - even when that Valley of inadequacy and death remains ever present.

May you also know the freedom of not being enough.