More than enough.

by Alexandra Rutkowski

I dream. A lot. Most of them are absolutely ridiculous, and I love every bit of it. I record all my crazy adventures in a small book by my bed in hopes of someday entertaining my kids with some pretty epic (and random) bedtime stories. I mean, come on, what kid doesn’t want to hear about racoon-hybrid men battling it out with their mom in the isles of Wal-mart with an army of all the “people of Wal-Mart” at their side? **Spoiler alert: their mom wins. With a spatula.**

I don’t really like to share any of my dreams unless they fall into the ridiculous category (which most of them do), but there’s just something about the one I awoke from this morning (or afternoon, if you’re being specific. Hey, it’s break. I can sleep in if I want!), that I haven’t been able to forget.

I had a very strange dream.

A lot happened. Jesus’ followers are turning on Him one by one. He’s on trial in this bookstore, and people are coming from all over the world to see what the verdict is: is He for real or not?

I’m walking through rooms in a bookstore as people are preparing their cases. There’s this one room, a dark cold room, where people are preparing to argue against Him. They won’t budge. “I made my choice,” one says, his words laced with anger and bitterness. The room is filled with darkness, demonic twisted ungodly entities screeching and shrieking in fear and in unison when a Bible comes near them. It’s crazy. And it’s heartbreaking. It’s chaotic and so loud. 

I enter the next and last room, and it’s suddenly so quiet.

It’s a small room. Bright. Warm. I hear voices saying the words joy and peace and warmth over and over again. I look down. My body is that of a child. I look up. There’s a small crowd of people. Just a handful.

I see Christ among them.

I run to Him. Run into Him more like it. I embrace Him. Hold Him as He holds me so tightly. I won’t let go.

I’m sorry I’m not everything I should be,” I say through my tears, “I’m sorry I’m not everything you want me to be.”

In that moment, I think of all my inadequacies. I’ve felt distant so many times, and even now I’ve been in a desert season, struggling to have faith and persevere. I think of all the ways I fall short. All the reasons Christ wouldn’t want me. Or any of us for that matter. Surely He’s made a mistake. We don’t deserve to be here.

I’m so sorry I’m not more.

He holds me tightly as I cry.

You are enough.” He whispers.

All of us are, he tells me. He tells us that it’s true, we don’t deserve it, we couldn’t be good enough. But He was. None of us should be here. We haven’t done anything to earn it, but we’re here because of Him. He is more than enough.

I look around and see that wherever this room is, it’s not in the bookstore anymore. No longer in that place I used to call home. They are worlds away from this place. There’s no pain here.

I am with Him. It’s perfect. It’s enough. He’s enough. I’m not sure much time passes. An eternity or a few seconds. Time doesn’t make much sense. I don’t know. I really don’t care. I just stay in that beautiful, warm, divine embrace. I just stay there holding on to Him. Until finally…

It’s time now,” he whispers. “It’s time for you to go back.”

I refuse to let go. Not yet. Not so soon. I don’t wanna leave. He gently pulls me away and I look up at him as the words sound through my head: It’s not your time yet. Don’t worry, I’ll see you laterYou need to go back,” He says, “You need to tell them. Tell them I’m enough.

He smiles at me as He reminds me, “Come on, it’s time… you have to go back now.”

I nod, wiping the last tears away. I take a step back slowly and look at Him one more time before I turn to leave the room. I take a step.

I wake up in my bed.

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