The sandy fields slipped by, bare cotton plants standing naked.
Occasional clumps of white hung forgotten on thorny branches.
The barrenness is striking.
Here in this expanse of dead plants, I feel it. I know it.
I stare again at the page in my hand, and read the words again.
His name. And the meaning.
“The God who is more than enough.”
Here in my inadequacy. My neediness. When every good thing in my life feels stripped,
and I stand bare and alone, nothing in my hands but a few grains of sand.
A dead leaf blowing in the moaning wind.
It is here, in the sand and the desolation, that He is enough.
Tears sting my eyes. The salt makes me blink, my eyes burn.
My heart burns too, with this fresh and overwhelming delight.
Oh, I’ve heard it a million times past, like a well chewed piece of gum.
But it’s real to me in a new way. Here, flying past all this desolation.
Today I’m stepping out of my comfort zone.
Way out. Sharing on a ministry team to those who live behind bars.
But I know HE is here.
I feel small. I don’t know how to sing in front of hundreds of men.
I’m under qualified. Overly self-conscious.
But this warmth circles my heart and slows my pulse.
No matter what I do, or how hard I try, my hope is in HIM.
Here in my smallness, I feel His hand picking me up,
carrying me high above the dry ground.
Life sprouting among bleak barrenness.
Freedom available on either side of the bars.
El Shaddai. More than enough.
His name reaches beyond my understanding, and wraps me up
in His strength, His love, His inability to fail.
I blink them away, these stinging tears.
Not at my smallness now, but at His vastness.
Here, in my inability, He is more than enough.