I was feeling pretty strung out one morning, trying to hold it together long enough to make lunches, find stuff for people and kiss goodbyes. I got my family out the door and had a few minutes to myself before I had to leave for work. I plopped down on the couch and let the tears run down my cheeks. (Thankfully I hadn’t put my mascara on yet.) My day hadn’t even started, my hair was still wrapped up in a towel, for heaven’s sake, and I was already falling apart.
Too many things had to happen in the next 24 hours. I could only be there for half of them, which meant I had to (gasp!) let other people help me. People who would do things differently than I would. Horror of horrors! My brain was racing, my heart was burdened, and the fragile illusion of control was dissolving right in front of my face. My schedule had betrayed me. (Et tu, Google calendar?) With my head resting on the back of the couch, I closed my dripping eyes.
Lord, I don’t have it. I just don’t have it.
Then He asked me the question that He asks on a regular basis.
Is this your best?
Normally, the answer is a grumpy, guilty no, followed by either an inner pep talk with a resolve to up my game, or a heal-digging stance to maintain the status quo, because that’s all I WANT to do.
But this time, on this rare occasion, my heart choked out a hoarse, Yes.
I could picture His mighty head nodding decisively. Okay. Then it’s enough. I’ll make it enough.
Suddenly a picture came to mind. The story goes that a mother took her young son to hear a famous concert pianist perform in a grand theater. The little boy had just begun piano lessons and she thought this would inspire him and encourage him to practice. At some point, the little monster wiggled away from his mom without her noticing. (Don’t judge. It happens.) She began frantically looking for him then saw a group of people pointing at the stage. There sat her son at the grand piano. He waved to his horrified mother and then, to everyone’s surprise, he began to play; a simple, plinky little tune that he had been practicing at home.
Before anyone could do anything about the embarrassing disruption, the world-renowned pianist walked out onto the stage with a delighted smirk. There was a collective gasp, some awkward applause and then everyone scrambled to their seats.
The pianist gave the audience a nod and a brief wave as he strode to the piano. What in the world was about to happen? Would he be outraged and refuse to do the concert? Would he be insulted? Would he call security to come remove the errant child?
He stopped just behind the occupied piano bench, leaned down and reached his arms around either side of the little boy to the piano keys. The pro whispered in the rookie’s ear, “Just keep playing, buddy.” The little boy grinned and continued his plinking as the pianist began weaving a beautiful and complex melody around the child’s song. And what began as a simple, imperfect effort became a masterpiece. The master made it enough.
Brad and I occasionally look back on our single-parenting days with great regret. You single parents know that parenting is a job that was never designed to be done alone. We both remember the pain and exhaustion that seemed to consume every waking minute. There are a number of moments when we feel like we simply failed our kids amid the emotional turmoil. And when those memories resurface, we take turns reminding each other:
“But that was your best. That was the very best you had in that moment. Your best looks different now. You’re capable of more now than you were then. All you can do is your very best in any given period of time, whatever that looks like. If it’s your best, it’s enough.”
My marriage deserves my best. God joined me into oneness with this guy and we said forever. Brad and I are each hopelessly flawed in our own ways. He doesn’t deserve my best because he’s perfect. He deserves my best because he’s my husband. And even when things are rough between us, I believe in marriage. I meant what I said that day. I promised him my best. Laugh at the joke, respect him (especially in front of others), say yes as much as possible, support and encourage him in weak moments. Oh, I want him to have my best and KNOW he’s getting my best.
My kids deserve my best. I’ve got one shot with these people (not even a whole shot, with all the coming and going). Every moment I have with them is precious. And it’s up to me to make the most of the times when we’re together. While you can’t let your world revolve around your kids, you can give them your best. I can look up from my computer, put down my phone, put off the dishes/laundry, watch the movie, listen to the dream, jump in the pool. The clock is ticking on my day-to-day time with them. And I’m shaping their memories of me right now. They should have my best.
My jobs deserve my best. I don’t just go to work to help pay bills. I go to work to make a difference. There are people at each office with lives, with stories. I should know their kids’ names, their spouses’ names, their pets’ names, where they’re from, where they went to college, where their parents live, where they like to go to lunch. And I shouldn’t work hard because I want to make more money or impress the boss. My work should be done unto the Lord and as an offering of my life to Him.
My friendships deserve my best. Time is at a high premium these days and I feel like any spare moment I have would be best spent taking a nap. But the truth is, I’d probably feel more energized after an hour or two with one of my buddies. I need to not wait for a mealtime to open up. I should work with whatever I’ve got. Invite them to come keep me company while I fold laundry. Eat cheese dip some random afternoon. Come by for a glass of wine after all the kids are in bed. Show up at their house with a Starbucks and a smile. Even an email or a text check-in would help keep us connected.
And last…yes, last…unfortunately usually last, but most certainly not least, my God deserves my best. When I decided to get serious about writing I was telling a friend how I was getting up thirty minutes earlier every day to write. He said, “Well, I hope someday you’ll be that excited about spending time with God every day.” Grrr. So I started getting up an HOUR earlier. God gets the first 30 minutes and my laptop gets the rest. But then I hit the gas on my day and sometimes don’t even think of Him again until that night while trying to fall asleep. Could I just talk to Him throughout the day? He’s RIGHT THERE. All the time. And He doesn’t NEED me, but He WANTS me. And for heaven’s sake, He knows I need HIM.
My best. Yes, it looks different in every season of life. It can look different every day. Sometimes it looks different every hour. But I always know what it is. I know when I’m doing it and when I’m not. So does God.
And some days, I’m doing it. Sometimes I’m giving whatever it is everything I’ve got and I still come up short. It’s not enough. For me, for others. Then what?
Then I listen for His question, answer honestly with a plea for help.
He whispers, Just keep playing.
And then the Master turns my sad little best into enough. Enough for Him.
