Just Enough Blueberries...

     Barefoot, I traipsed outside to pick some blueberries in my backyard, hoping for some to put on my whole-grain (translation:  bland, yet good-for-me) cereal.  The grass was wet, the morning air was already heavy with Alabama humidity, and the dew-laden plants in my meager raised bed greeted me just beyond the corner of the garage.  I shifted my plastic basket to my other hand and began moving leaves aside to look for those beautiful blue orbs.  Yes!  Two, then three . . . then a handful were scattered on the bottom of my basket.  But alas, no matter how many times I lifted leaves, the other berries were just not ripe enough, so back I walked into the house to enjoy my breakfast.  (Well, enjoy might be a bit strong of a word, but those berries DID help.)
      Side note/confession:  I'd MUCH rather have had enough blueberries to have made muffins.  And I do have enough blueberries in the freezer, but at that point, I was Hungry (with a capital H) and wasn't waiting around for someone (oh, wait, that would be me) to make some stinking muffins.

     So, I grabbed a magazine off my kitchen table to read while I ate (I was the only one eating at the time; I wasn't being antisocial or setting a bad example; I'd NEVER eat while others are at the table.  Oh wait . . .), and as sometimes happens on rare quiet mornings at my house, I started thinking.  I thought about those blueberries for a minute.  And as so often happens for completely random reasons, I started crying.

    What in the world?
    Lord, why am I crying about blueberries?

    Because there were just enough.
 
    So, in my typical English-teacher manner, the symbolism was NOT lost on me.   Just enough blueberries for my bowl of cereal.  I so often crave for more of so much in life.  So much more than just enough.
 
More money.
Not millions, Lord, but enough to get out of debt and get our kids through college without student  loans and perhaps build a cute little Victorian farmhouse on an acre or so.  And pedicures.
More time.
Not enough to be idle for long, Lord, but enough so that I can catch up on scrapbooking and perhaps have lunch with a friend once a week during the summer without feeling guilty. And get 8 hours of sleep during the school year. And maybe blog a bit more.  Or write a book. Or clean out my craft closet.  (Nah, maybe not that last one).
More accolades.
Not the red-carpet-awards-show-type, Lord, but enough recognition to make me feel as if my hard work is noticed by others.  And that my talents and skills (such as they are) are being used in the best way so that I can feel affirmed that I am doing what I'm supposed to be doing.  
More "moments."
Not YouTube worthy gut-clenchers, Lord, but enough romance and teary-eyed wonder on special days or on regular days to make me feel ALIVE!  And deep conversations. 
More friends.
Not Facebook-quality acquaintances, Lord, but some bff's (both gentle-spirited women and those who might be more Brillo-pad-like so I don't feel so much like a mutant) who "get" me and who call or text or message me wanting to "hang out" or tell me about what's going on in their lives.  And go get pedicures with me.
More self-control.
Not in a neurotic or self-reliant way, Lord, but in a way that honors you.  The ability to walk by a cookie or a book or drive past a Pizza Hut or a thrift store (yes, even thrifters must have self-control...) and not give in to the temptation to indulge.

And there are plenty more of those "more's" where those came from.  And where did they come from?  The pit of hell?  Hmmm, I don't think so.  Well, perhaps the accolades one . . . The rest are not evil in and of themselves, but when I make it my goal in life to arrange or manipulate things to assure that all those things are present, happening, and lovely, then I miss them when they ARE present, happening, and lovely.

But God in his infinite wisdom and as the architect of my life, the one who knows the way planned out for me and who has known it since I was formed in my mother's womb, the one who has given me a "hope and a future," the God of the universe knows that sometimes - most of the time - I do not need more.  I might want more, but I don't need more.  I need just enough.

I've been dealing with some sickness for the last few weeks.  And I don't get sick.  Ever.  Except for, apparently, sometimes I do.  This is not a good place for me.  I do a bit too much navel-gazing rather than bask in the opportunities for sleep, prayer, cuddles with my kids (well, they are mostly too old for cuddles...sigh...), and meditation.  On the other hand, my usual early summer productivity (check things off that list kids, and MAYBE we can go swimming/to the park/on a day trip to a fun and educational site within a 100-mile radius!) has been curbed drastically.  Which is not a good place for my family.  Because I want MORE of them, too.  I secretly think they are hoping that I will stay sick for a week or so longer.  Nothing serious, mind you, but enough to keep me on the "slow" side . . .  But I have such a long list of more, for them as well as for me.  It is not pretty.

I often play the game of promises with God about that elusive "more":
"But God, if I had $100,000, we could pay off our credit cards and be able to help our friends with their adoption fund and buy our kids some NEW jeans for once and . . . and, and, and... And if Anthony was just MORE romantic, think about how unified we'd be in serving you and how much Happier (with a capital H) I'd be.  And if my kids' albums were all caught up and perfectly displayed on the shelf, how special they would feel when they looked through them and saw all the loving, handwritten comments and perfectly matched stickers and whatnot on the pages . . . And if I were thinner, what a great testimony I'd be able to have about how you delivered me from the bondage of cheesy bread . . . And if I had great friends and co-workers who loved me and showered me with affirmation and pedicures, I'd SO give you all the glory, Lord . . . !"

Really??  Really.

And then, Boom, the blueberries of life hit you on the head.  And, as befits that humble berry, their impact is not catastrophic or even painful.  Perhaps a tad bit blue-tinged, but otherwise, pretty much a non-event.  Except for that gentle nudge of that still, small voice.  Reminding you that you need just enough.  That He is just enough.  That you already have just enough.

Every spoonful of my cereal didn't have a berry.  But the ones that did were sweet, indeed.