{enough right now}

Though I am neither poor, nor a widow, today I find something in me resonating with the widow in Luke 21.

As Jesus watches the people whose lives are full, rich, seemingly complete, only offer up part of what has been given to them, only offer a portion of their blessing back to God, he catches a glimpse, from the corner of His eye, of a widow.

Usually, if I am being honest, I would say I more identify with the ones who held on too tightly to their money and possessions. The ones who clenched their fists around their blessings; strangling what was once a life giving quality out of them and twisting them into odd replacements for their worship and devotion.

Usually, if I am being honest, I don't offer back very much of anything that has worth or value to me.

Side by side He sees this widow and the rich, standing, opening their palms to reveal not just coins, but their trust, what they value, whom they love, their worship. Waiting to drop all of this into a treasury in sacrifice to their God. He sees this woman, most likely dressed in modest, worn out clothing. Possibly dusty from her travels, most likely bearing the lines of loss on her face; most likely with a bit of heart ache lingering in her eyes.

He sees her, and I hope she smiled, even if just a little, as she offered up her two copper coins, next to the many that others around her were heaping in. He sees her and He says:

“Truly I say to you, this poor widow put in more than all of them; for they all out of their surplus put into the offering; but she out of her poverty put in all that she had to live on.”

Ten weeks may not seem like much to most of you. It may not seem like something that feels like second after second dragging, ticking, trickling on at a snail pace. But the past ten weeks of my life certainly felt like all of that. Jared and I found out we were pregnant at a measly 3 weeks along, and we spent the following weeks alternating between joy and panic. We vacillated between sheer excitement and total fear. We planned, we read, we told people who we wanted to be praying for our little baby, and we waited, ever so impatiently, for our ten week appointment to see and hear that little prune sized baby.

I never understood how attached women got so early in pregnancy, but the minute that baby wasn't on our ultrasound, I felt my heart splinter and the shards of it connect with every mother who has ever miscarried that small life within them. I understood in one instant how there are, quite literally, no words to help someone understand, unless you have been through it. There is nothing to explain, to yourself or anyone else, why it hurts so much, why you're heart breaks so quickly, why you suddenly feel like you failed.

It may not have been a baby to anyone else, but it was a baby to us. It was a person, a life with a heart and a soul. And for just a few short weeks, God let it be mine and Jared's. No matter how small the amount of time you spend with your baby, it matters. It always matters. And although many who have never experienced this can't understand, it is so hard to open your palms and give what feels like your last two coins back to God.

I am the woman with the two coins this time. I am poor in spirit always, but I often forget until something reminds me. I am not sure that I would have been by choice, but here, now, this feels like everything. Trusting enough to be all in, to release my grip on what I thought was mine, it feels like everything.

It isn't much to give, of the blessings I have received. Just an aching heart and an empty womb. But it is enough for right now.