It Spills

Five bodies—three small ones, two not so small,
Pressed into 200 square feet.
The mess spills over.
Tempers often fly.
An abundance of personalities.
An abundance of toys to trip over.
At times the tears spill from the corners of my eyes.

Plastic cups,
Spilled milk, again.
(They say not to cry.)
Dishes that multiply faster than the loaves and fishes that fed the 5,000.
Abundance
My heart—is it grateful 
For this abundance?
Many days, no.

My cup—it feels cracked.
Pouring out.
Pouring out.
Pouring out.
Am I enough?
It seems I am not.
And yet, when my weary soul can curl around the One who made me,
The One who gave me this abundance
Then somehow—
It is
Enough.

I am not enough.
But He gives, enough, just enough.
A break,
When my weary heart feels spent.
A cup of warm chai wrapped beneath my twisted fingers. 
Watching as the morning sky is painted a soft pink.

A verse to remind me.
He sees me.
He carries me.
He holds me, and He holds the ones I love
When my arms are tired.
Enough
Abundance
His love for me spills over.

WHERE DO YOU SEE AND SENSE THIS LOVE SPILLING OVER?
TELL US IN THE COMMENTS.

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RUTH POTINU is the author of Permission to Mourn: Engaging with Culture, Story and Scripture in a Quest for Healing with Hope. She works along her husband, Simon, and their three children in Papua New Guinea where they seek to minister to the vulnerable, especially widows and their children. Ruth loves a good cup of chai, good conversations, and writing whenever she can carve out the time. Connect with her on www.permissiontomourn.com and on Instagram at @ruthpotinu.