Enough

There is a cup of lukewarm coffee on the table
as you write in your journal
in a cheap hotel, anonymous
among the artery of traffic
that travels home from the holidays,
each, like you, full of memories
and pain and wrestling
with their own joys and demons,
heading into the fray
of the battles ahead
and the battles behind.
You are no different,
part of the cohort of the broken,
marking into battle
armed only with your love, wondering
if it is enough.

About this poem. 

All too often in my life, I feel like the only weapon I have to survive and to help others is love. I feel terribly under equipped to know what to do for those around me I care about most as they deal with their own struggles. And I wonder, is that enough? Is it?

But whether it is, or isn’t, it is what I have. It is what I offer. It is not mine to decide if it is enough. It is only mine to offer what I have.

The painting is one of mine. It’s title is Psalm 23. That bit of familiar scripture was part of my devotions this morning.

Tom