Enough

New International Version (©1984)
"It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery."  Galations 5:1

My 18 year old cousin is a beauty:

Long blonde hair, athletic body, a smile that sparkles.
She is ornamented in a GAP top, designer jeans, shoes meant to be rugged that probably cost a fortune.

I have not seen her in months, and as we catch up she talks with me in an unfamiliar cadence, something borrowed from her friends or a movie or maybe a celebrity on tv. 

I follow her on Facebook and know about her life from her pictures and her posts.  It's a good life.  She is a sports star, a popular girl; she has had many cute boyfriends.   I am happy for her.  Any-age-teen can be rough, but it doesn't look so bad for her.  She's one of the lucky ones that has emerged on her feet. 

As we chat, I wait for the jealousy to seep in.  My own adolescence was a far cry from hers, and I am accustomed to envy on behalf of my awkward past.  I wait for it . . . but it doesn't come.  Instead,  a new thought surprises me, a splash of cold water to the soul:  I realize as we talk that I want more for her, so much more for her.

It's hard to articulate, and it sounds like judgment.  At first it feels that way too.  I barely know her.  Should I assume that she is shallow and lacking because she seems to be navigating high school with ease?  That's not really what I meant.

My reaction to her coolness is visceral but not malicious or condemning.  I know - intuitively if not personally - that my cousin has great worth wholly apart from her facade.  And what I desire is for her to know it too.  I ache to free her from the cultural constraints that demean her unwitting soul, to show her that she is enough.  Period.  And yet I sit silent.  It will be years before she is ready for my sermon.  The trouble with refinement is that it requires passing through the fire.  As all who have gone before have witnessed, no lecture or textbook can substitute for the kiln of life. 

So although I cannot save her grief, my observations reflect a plank in my own eye with which I must reckon.  How many times recently have I pled with my Father to accessorize my life with success and railed against him when he withheld?  As I think over the nature my prayers from the last few months, I am humbled by the simple realization that my Father wants more for me than my requests.  I ask for things to bolster my value; enhance my sense of self-worth.  Benevolently, my Father withholds.  It is only as I quiet my rebellion and accept my circumstance that I can hear him whisper - softly and gently - that with Him and to Him, I am enough.  Period. 

Thank you, Oh God, for the freeing of my soul!