We are, none of us, everything.
Not to ourselves or our spouses or our children or to anyone who we love.
I'm reminded of this forcibly when my 2-year old's face crashes because I can't pick her up. Baby brother in one arm and three or four grocery bags in the other, walking through the middle of the parking lot, it's an impossibility. I cannot do it.
I hate that, those moments where I know what they need and I know what they want and I still can't do it, the moments where I have to look into their eyes and say, "Mommy can't right now," and I know they don't understand.
They need everything. They need to be held by arms stronger than mine, cared for by someone more patient than I am, fed and clothed and hugged by someone with infinite energy.
That's not me.
And so I choose, here and there, the things I'm good at and the things I like and the things I feel called to, and I try to become good at giving those things. I try to let the rest go, to know that Daddy and Jesus can meet the needs I cannot meet. All the same, in this torn ragged world we live in, I know that some needs, some important needs even, will go unmet.
I can be everything to no one. And so I strive to do a few things well, knowing all the while that they need everything and I can't give them that, no matter how much I would if I could.
May I point them to Jesus, who has already given it all! May one of the things I learn to do well be directing their eyes to his and teaching them to see! May they have receptive hearts to see and hear and understand!
Linking with Emily today.