Am I enough?

I wrote this a little while ago, but couldn't post it, because it was too raw.  I'm over the hump.  I'm at peace and past this grief.  It seems the theme of the last couple of weeks for me has been grief - blessedly not the grief of losing human life - I am so very grateful for that.  But grief isn't only for those horrific occasions.  If ever you've struggled with letting dreams go or putting them on hold, maybe you can relate to how I was feeling when I wrote this...

Recently I learned some fabulous news about some people I knew in what feels like another lifetime.  College cohorts who have achieved great successes and are doing amazing things in the world.  Influential things.  Things that may not only make a difference (and headlines) today, but may make a positive difference for years and generations to come.  Truly.

They are in positions to put people in place to make good decisions in the courts, in the media, in the current presidential administration.  They ARE the people BEING put in place to make good decisions.  They have clerked for Supreme Court justices, they have been top of their classes in the top schools in the nation, they have worked countless hours over many years to earn this privilege.  And they're not just lawyers.  They are lawyers, and speech writers, and journalists, and state representatives, and civil servants with great civic influence.

These were people I called not only "classmate" but also "friend" in that other lifetime.

I sit in my yoga pants with my laptop jiggling at random as my belly button is pummeled from the inside by the 4th little miracle I've had the privilege to carry.  Dishes from 2 days ago fill my sinks and my counters.  Toys have exploded well beyond the playroom to every nook, cranny and corner of the house.  And don't even get me started on the laundry...

I see the headline about these amazing people, and I wonder, "Am I enough?" 

I wasn't just in class with these people.  I was their intellectual peer.  We challenged each other.  I learned what "the good" is with these people; I learned how to logically challenge thought with these people; we studied friendship together via Aristotle's Nichomachean Ethics.  In essence, they helped me as we went through the metamorphosis from know-it-all teen to learn-to-love-learning-for-learning's-sake, reasonable, thinking adult.  (Or at least, a reasonable, thinking adult when I am well-rested and not pulled in multiple directions by sticky little fingers...) 

... 

I am pulled from slumber at 2:37am by stifled sobs and a pair of big brown eyes peeking over the edge of my bed.  "My legs hurt, Mommy." 

Growing pains. 

I heft my pregnant belly over as I roll to make room, while simultaneously reaching down to pull this piece of my heart into bed for snuggles - the only remedy that eventually eases these growing pains away. 

I wrap my arms around him, and I wonder, "Am I enough?"

I am not.  No matter how much I invest in them, my children always want and need more than I will ever be capable of giving. 

I have a job I love, a job I'll likely have to give up eventually because the demands of home will outweigh the benefit of even my flexible, wonderful, invigorating job. 

And I'm not complaining.  I chose this life, deliberately.  And I almost never look back.  How could I?  Trade the greatest treasures the Lord can bestow for some title and insane work hours in a city far from everyone I love?  No thank you.

But I just need to take a moment and be honest with myself and wonder, "Am I enough?" 

The question has many applications.  In fact, that very question years ago (when I was 23) got me to take the GRE and start applying for grad schools.  With what many of my peers were doing, I thought maybe I was just stupid and not smart, so that's why I was still in the same job after almost 2 years.  (Turns out, that job is still one I look back on as the most exciting, interesting, challenging, fun job I have ever had!)

The answer I learned back then was that I was enough.  I could still pull great GRE scores, get into great schools, even get some of my tuition covered with great scholarships.  (That doesn't change the fact that we're still paying off the student loans that resulted from me needing to answer that "am I enough?" question...)

And today, I wonder, if life had gone differently (not that I wish that it had), but would I have been enough?  Am I enough?  Could I have?  Would I have?  What would it have been like if I had? 

I don't often live in the "what ifs...?"  Most of the time, they're not helpful.  But sometimes, every now and then, I slip into a puddle (or pit) and wallow in the "what ifs...?" 

They are a good opportunity to look back at life and review the decisions I've made (most alongside my husband - we celebrated 17 YEARS since our first date earlier this month!).

The honest truth is that I don't regret any of my major life decisions.  Not all have been easy, but they have each been good - the right thing at the right time. 

And then I wonder, will I be prepared for the next thing?  (Chase can attest that I was in tears very recently telling him that I am, indeed, NOT prepared for the next thing.  Four children ages 5 and under completely overwhelms me!!!) 

But then, that's trusting my own strength.  In my own strength it is not possible to live well with 4 children ages 5 and under.  In my own strength it is not possible to face labor and delivery, yet again, with any kind of positive thought.  In my own strength it is not possible to be prepared for the thing just around the corner that I don't know is coming.  In my own strength, nothing is possible.

My strength, if I had any, is gone anyway.  I am tired.  I am weary.  I am worn out, discouraged, beaten down, exhausted, unworthy, incapable, and worthless.

But. 

It is not by my own strength that any of my life thus far has turned out well, nor is it by my own strength that I will joyfully take on whatever the next challenges are beyond bearing #4 and bringing him into the world. 

Psalm 127 has been a theme this pregnancy for sure.  It states just exactly what children are - a heritage from the Lord, a blessing.  Blessed are we if our quiver is full. 

And you know what else?  It says that, "Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born in ones youth."  

I don't think of myself as an archer or warrior, nor do I think of my children as arrows.  At least, if they are, then we've got a loooooooooooooot of sharpening to do!

Not all are called to the life that I am walking, just like not all are called to work in the presidential administration or write speeches or make movies or anything else.  We each have different paths to walk.

This is mine.  It's not over yet, and the question of "Am I enough?" will inevitably rear its ugly head again.  But as I have done before, I am choosing now to sit back in the arms of my Creator and trust that He has a plan, better than any plan I could imagine, dream up, or invent, to make my life exactly enough to fulfill His purpose. 

And you know, if I've done what the Creator of the Universe designed for me to do, if I have fulfilled exactly that role, how could I not be enough?

Frazier

Like birth, death is unpredictable.

Sometimes it comes and you see it a mile away and have time to prepare - an achingly long, arduous journey through the valley.  And sometimes it strikes so quickly you flail in the fall, struggling to catch your own breath in light of the one now forever breathless.

The latter happened today.

Our dear, faithful, noble-souled dog Frazier passed away this afternoon.

He wasn't acting quite right for about 1/2 an hour, and then a howl came from the other room.  I dialed the vet as I went to check on him.

As the vet answered, I watched Frazier take his final breath and go peacefully beyond to wherever it is that dogs go.

Likely a stroke, heart attack, or brain aneurysm I was told, based on how things went.

But you know, none of that matters.  Because he's gone.

Please don't think me overly emotional or ridiculous about all this - he was just a dog, different than a human life in both body and soul.  I have lost human life and that is so very, very different than this.

And yet, grief has many levels and many stages, and it is a miserable mistress whatever the case.

Eleven and a half years ago, Chase and I got married.  We moved to Michigan where we went to college; we got permission from our landlords, and went dog-hunting.  It was Labor Day Weekend when we found him.

Frazier wasn't the one I thought we'd come home with.  Bigger than his siblings, he hung back from the pack.  The little black and brown female was aggressive with her love - chewing shoelaces, leaping into laps.  The other siblings followed her lead.  So unlike Frazier who hung back a bit, more calm and less aggressive.

He was Chase's pick, because he was to be "Chase's dog."

Within a week death was knocking at his door - Frazier had parvovirus, a very serious virus for puppies.  He suffered severe dehydration, and in the middle of the night, I sobbed as we took him to the vet who injected fluid directly under his skin.  It gathered into a hump on Frazier's back, making him look like a tiny, floppy-eared camel.  Over the next few hours, the fluid absorbed into his body, and he was hydrated again.  The prognosis was unsure.

He recovered and became a fixture in our young household.  His birthday was the same day as our wedding, so we never forgot to celebrate him.  In college, he served as the mascot for the intramural flag football team that I was on and Chase coached.  We were The Fraziers, "fierce and sneaky."

He went with us everywhere - on walks, on trips home to Nebraska, to work with me every now and then if I worked odd hours, and on all of our moves.  In his 11 1/2 years, he lived in 6 different houses - all rentals - he flew twice, he toured the monuments in DC, he welcomed 3 babies home.  He welcomed another dog into our family and then grieved with us when she died.  He tolerated the cat we got 2 years ago, and I think they could have been great friends if the cat would have ever stopped picking on poor Frazier!

He never chewed a shoe, bit a person, or got into the trash (except that once).  He didn't bark, except when people came to the door, and he rarely got onto the table or counter, except when I forgot to feed him.

He cleaned up the floor underneath the table and in the kitchen as I cooked and our children learned to eat.  He sat patiently, begrudgingly, when I groomed him.  He rolled in cow poop (or any other kind of poop) whenever he had the chance, and once managed to corner a skunk without getting sprayed.  Kind and gentle with everyone, never meeting a human he didn't love, and patient with tinies crawling on him and pulling his ears.

Essentially, he was the perfect dog.  Just what I needed in that phase of life where I was privileged to have him.  Because, let's be real, he ended up MY dog.

Rest in Peace, Frazier.  Thanks for sharing your life with us.

Trying to sleep in the bean bag.

Mid-bath.  Also, this is where he would go when
there was a thunder storm, because bathtubs are safe.

At the park.

Vacation to Texas, driving through the night.

This guy's life changed a LOT when we had kids.

But he found ways to enjoy even the kids, or at least their things.

He was always looking for the perfect place to nap.
The back of the couch made the cut this day.

This was a good place whenever he was allowed.

Christmas pictures made him yawn.

The face I'll always remember so fondly.

Bringing home babies was exhausting for all of us.

These were the glory days, when we were in college, and he was
just a puppy.  This was before his first haircut.  I let his hair get
so long that we put it in a ponytail on top of his head so he could see.

And after he started getting haircuts, I got him clothes.  Poor guy.
After we had kids, he never wore another piece of clothing.  That
was a good thing for him about us having kids.

In Michigan, the snow would get so deep that we'd
have to scoop a path across the patio to the yard
so he could do his business.  He loved to play in the
snow when he was young.  He'd come in with hundreds
of tiny snowballs stuck in his fur.

Tell Brook "hi" for us buddy.  We miss you both.  <3