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As I've been contemplating the sufficiency of what God gives me over the past few weeks, this song popped into my head.

"I'm tired, do I have to keep proving myself?

I'm weary and drawing from an empty well

I need You more than I ever have

So Jesus come and shatter my darkness somehow

I'm restless for something significant

But I'm helpless cause I've done all I can

I want You more than I ever have

So Jesus come and hold me, I'm shaking right now

You are the Comforter so comfort me

You're the Sustainer so be enough for me

You are my Father and Your love for me

Is where I find my rest

I won't speak until You speak

I won't move until You move me

I won't sing, sing over me

I will wait as long as it takes"

(As Long as it Takes, Meredith Andrews)

It is easiest to write about the merits of saying "yes" to God when you're sitting in front of an open, sunny window on mid-September day, drinking re-warmed coffee, as I am right now. But then again, the baby is awake sooner than I had hoped/anticipated and really I should go get her out of bed, so writing about those merits isn't AS easy as it could be - I don't really have "enough" to be writing right now - not enough time, not enough silence.

In fact, that's always true... I never have enough. Never enough time, never enough silence, never enough rest, never enough insight, never enough skills, never enough confidence, never enough help, never enough appreciation, never enough. At least, I never have enough on those weeks when my attitude is one of scarcity - looking at all of life through the lens that makes it appear as though God is asking too much of me, that I deserve a life more peaceful, or more simple, or more calm, or more fulfilling.

I'm drawing from an empty well.

Rarely do I have time to do what I feel would be necessary to refill my well before something else is asked of me - either by God, or by my children, or some other person or circumstance entirely. Never of myself do I have what I seem to need to meet the demands.

Rarely do I find myself seeking what I need in the right place.

Rarely do I find myself drinking of the well before I've reached my end.

Unfortunately it's more often that I find myself pointing fingers, frustrated by my lack of fulfillment but seeking to place the blame for the lack on someone or something else, instead of drawing from the real Well and speaking, moving, and singing only in His strength, in His time, for His glory. I know from experience, but have to keep re-learning over and over again, that when I wait for God's direction and then say "yes" - there is always enough. In fact, sometimes when I'm at my emptiest, I'm learning that if I ask God for strength and then step into more giving rather than waiting to be filled first, He actually refills me in the giving. Often, it seems, the action must precede the feeling... I must give before I feel ready. It starts first thing in the morning, when everyone just-out-of-bed collides in the kitchen and no one is quite ready to be there yet. I have to choose to offer life-giving words, routines, and food before I feel like I've had the quiet time and coffee that I need.

And it comes - it really does. There is always enough - grace, at least, to do the right thing. And sometimes there is enough coffee and quiet and space. And other times there's not... but He is the Sustainer, and His well never runs dry.

I write this today not from a place of fully overcoming in this area, but from a place of learning... of learning what it means to live with an attitude of abundance, and gratefulness, and heart overflowing and life-giving, rather than holding on tightly, fearful of running out and never fully resting in the promises of God. I'm asking myself what it looks like to have needs but to not be governed by them, to seek what I need but with arms open for those needs to be met in ways I'm not expecting, and sometimes even to forego what I think I need, trusting that God will send something in it's place. This is motherhood, and this is life... abundantly lived.

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Hi, I'm Hannah.

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