Light

Lovingly, I watch them grow. Often with sorrow, more often with joy.

In January of this year I had to put Avonlea and Grant in an Algebra 1/2 class. I couldn't figure out the problems, I couldn't help them. They needed what I didn't have, a mathematical brain, to guide them. I found them a class on Wednesday mornings and all was well.
But Tuesday nights were tough. There were problems they couldn't get on the work they had to turn in on the morn.
Finally I told them, "Why don't you show each other the problems you don't get. Your brains are exactly opposite each other's so you can probably help."
Sure enough, every problem Avonlea didn't get, Grant did, and vice versa.

They worked together at the kitchen table. An hour passed and the sun descended.
And I realized that they had both surpassed me. They could help each other because I could no longer help them. They can diagram sentences that I can't fathom the mechanics of. They have both surpassed me in musical ability and can sight read way better than I can. They eat more than I do.
And as I watched them working, I felt as though I had nothing to offer them.
I lit the candle on the table. I lit it as light for them. I lit it just for the sake of beauty.

The paradigm shifted and I saw that this is always all I had to offer them.
Light.
The Light of the world resides in me, shines through my inadequacies, and illuminates the path my family walks.
If I think I have anything more than that to offer, anything higher to live up to, anything necessary that I lack, I am mistaken.
When I doubt myself, I remember the Light, and I aim for transparency.
Because He is always enough.