“Let this be enough.”
I heard those simple words this morning as I sat quietly in my living room beneath the “Inhale” and “Exhale” artwork that reminds me to breathe. In my left arm sat my cuddly grey cat that I never intended to own; in my right hand steam rose from the coffee in my Be Brave mug. My jealous Poodle, deeply offended that I could love any creature apart from herself, had crawled into my lap and curled up on the pillow. A soft Target blanket was tucked around my legs, and my feet were warm inside fuzzy socks. A pumpkin candle glowed and fall’s weak morning light shone through the windows. Be still, I urged my mind. Be still and know. Stay quiet and listen.
Let this be enough.
I am blessed in ways I don’t deserve, and all my needs are met in abundance. I see this even more now that I work directly with people who have so little through no fault of their own. Of course, I still have unmet desires—the longing to meet my husband, the urge to devote myself fully to the life of a writer, the wish to travel and see and write about the overwhelming beauties of our world. Sometimes, those soul-deep longings rise to the surface, crying out for attention.
But mostly, my mind stays focused on the growing list of all that must be done.
“Be still,” God invites, and I close my eyes and try to focus on those words, looping them into pretty calligraphy letters in my mind. But then the to-do list storms in like a demanding child or a nagging mother, wagging its finger at me. “But don’t you know all that must be done?! There is no time to be still!” And I look at the to-do list, all that I need to take care of before I leave for work at 10:30 am, even on a Saturday—peeling and cutting vegetables for a crockpot stew, finishing laundry, responding to emails, scheduling social media, editing posts for That First Year—and my heart leaps up from its resting place in agreeance, ready to tackle the tasks right now. “Yes, there is no time to be still!” it beckons.
Let this be enough.
And I look down, and I listen to the soft purrs of my cat—rhythmic like breath, inhaling, exhaling. I hear the contented sighs of my Poodle and watch the candle flames reach up, gulping for air. Outside a cardinal sits in a tree, a red splash amidst golden leaves.
The right now. Let this be enough.
And it is.