More Than Enough

It’s Friday night, and snow is falling. I’m pulling into the parking lot of my apartment complex. My old Dodge struggles on slick cement.

My heart is full tonight. I spent the evening with my church family—ice skating and then playing board games.

I park my car and open my door. The radio clicks off, and I’m surrounded by quiet. Even the distant noise of traffic is muffled by the snowfall.

Snowflakes cling to my gloves. I lift up my hand to get a better look. The flakes are huge.

They remind me of a different snowfall. They remind me of walking downtown with a young woman I cared deeply for. I remember how her scarf looped twice around her neck. The way she bunched her gloved fingers together to keep them warm.

“Isn’t this stunning?” she said. “Snow changes everything. The whole world is different covered in white.”

“It’s like we didn’t even realize how gritty the world was,” I said. “Then the snow falls and reminds us how wonderful life can be.”

She slipped on a patch of ice, and I grabbed her arm to steady her. My heart beat fast. She looked at me, her eyes deep and caring.

“Thanks, Logan,” she said. “You’re a good guy. Don’t go anywhere, ok?”

I didn’t. But in the end, she did.

I watch the snowflakes melt on my glove, then I begin to walk toward my apartment. Old hurt creeps back into my chest. I no longer feel full. I feel like a part of me is missing.

I stare at my solitary footprints in the snow.

In frustration, I call out to God: Why couldn’t things have worked out? Why couldn’t I have what I want so badly. Why couldn’t you allow me to be happy?

It’s only after these feelings solidify that I realize my mistake.

God should be enough. He should be more than enough.

I know I need to realign my heart. It’s not wrong to want someone to spend the rest of my life with. But it is wrong for my joy to be dependent on a woman rather than God. It’s wrong to expect a human being to fill all the emptiness of my life.

I lift up a new prayer: God, I don’t understand why I’m still single. I don’t want to be. But I also don’t want to place anything ahead of you in my life.

I continue to walk across the parking lot. My footprints are still alone in the snow. But now, I know I’m heading in the right direction.