i used to walk on the treadmill every day.
a few years ago, i realized that my old, reliable metabolism had decided to rebel against me like an angst-ridden teen in a john hughes film.
so every day, i would get on the treadmill and walk for about 30 minutes.
i hate exercise. hate it. hate. it.
there is only one thing that i enjoy about it—results.
if my clothes start fitting a little looser, i’m motivated to keep at it.
and for about five or six months last year, that magical connection happened.
i walked on the treadmill. i dropped pounds. my clothes fit better.
then i started watching what i eat. skipping the fries. drinking more water.
i seemed to have found the elusive formula. what i was doing was enough.
i lost about 30 pounds total.
but then i found it—well at least 20 pounds of it and apparently somehow slapped it back on to my gut.
what “helped” me find it? i discovered something that no one tells the exercise illiterate—when you keep doing the same exercise all the time, after awhile it doesn’t work. it isn’t enough.
now i just walk on the treadmill occasionally.
no matter what i do, no matter how much i adjust the incline or how far i walk, it just isn’t enough. and the weight has crept back on.
that word “enough” seems to be coming up a lot lately.
i just don’t feel like anything is ever enough. wherever i turn, it seems like there is always something or someone who needs more.
i just can’t find that place where anything i do is “enough.”
one sunday morning at church, we sang the lyrics to a chris tomlin song, “the cross was enough.”
and for some reason, i just latched on to that song that morning.
i get how the cross can be enough for my salvation. i’ve got that covered. well, at least in theory. but i really didn’t know how the cross can be enough for the particular circumstances i’m facing in so many different areas. it seems like such a trite answer to the things that demand my time and attention every day.
but i want to believe it’s enough.
so that morning during worship, i did something my cynical, analytical self doesn’t do often—i hoped.
i said to Jesus, “i don’t know how you can be enough for all these areas. it really doesn’t make sense to me. but i need you to be. so i’m just going to ask you.”
i’m still hoping. i’ve even added believing to that.
the cross was enough. it feels like the old adage, “Jesus is the answer”—a statement that didn’t seem to be sufficient because it might not fit the question.
but i want Jesus to be enough. and to somehow let that “enough” spill out into the things that make me feel like a constant disappointment in my everyday life.
i want to know what enough is, even if i’m painfully aware of what i am personally lacking.
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