Enough

When we bought our 1920s era home, we inherited a row of old crab apple trees that reside in the thin little strip of grass between the street and the sidewalk in front of our house. One week each spring they sprout little tiny pink flower buds that burst open into a profusion of pastel beauty, then fall like princess snow to the ground. It is the most beautiful thing—and my favorite week of the year to live here. Every year during that week, I think, When I leave this earth I want my final resting place to be under trees like these … with this pink snow blowing gently. Silently.

But that is one week, out of 52. There are many other weeks (like the last 6-8) spent cleaning up the droppings from those trees. The small crab apples drop in the street, on the sidewalk, in the yard. They are a mess. It’s impossible to avoid stepping on them, crushing them and tracking them inside on your shoes. The gooey crabapple sauce left behind is even messier—and draws flies (and sneaky poodles who think that maybe it would taste good.) No matter how much we sweep, shovel and blow them aside---more little crab apples drop and 30 minutes later, it looks like it did before you started working. Messy.

Recently we talked about maybe cutting down the trees to eliminate the mess, clean-up and headaches. That’s when I started thinking about our individual perception of enough. Is one week of lovely pink snow enough to justify seasons of mess? It’s difficult to measure enough. We could measure it in time—one week in this case. Or we could measure it in compliments: If your boss only commends your hard work once a year during a review, is it enough to justify all the blood, sweat and tears you invested the rest of the year? We could measure it in kindness: if the price of your morning coffee goes up 50 cents per cup, is the friendly barista that knows your name enough to keep you returning each day? We could measure it in love: indicated in those seemingly few smiles or glances that you receive from your loved ones that say—despite all the headaches I know I cause you, I really love you.

I think the hard part is being able to identify when something is enough. It has to be a choice comprised of gratitude. If I see that one week of breathtakingly beautiful pink blossoms as a miracle from God, then that week is more than enough. If a child is raised in darkness, and one person shows him love—in the form of hugs or encouragement, then that’s enough to make a difference.

If we could filter out all the thousands of messages we get every day that tell us that the lives we live … the food we eat … the things we say … the choices we make … the things we buy … the efforts we put forth are not enough, then I think we could begin again to listen to that little voice inside each of us. We could pay more attention to each thing we smell, taste, touch, hear, see and feel. Then, we could ask ourselves that question again. Is it enough? Absolutely. It’s plenty.