that I was sure it was visible through my
shirt. My forced smile con- cealed the
instant sensation of cotton mouth at
their inquisition. I just wanted them all
to shut up and leave me alone.
Somewhere down the line I got it
into my mind that the world was judg-
ing me because I didn’t measure up
to its standards. The same standards
that I so readily agreed to and strived
to meet. The standards that society
defined as “the image of success.”
Success, nonetheless, that was based
upon a false sense of perfection. I
spent years and years in pursuit of the
perfect body.
The perfect career.
The perfect house.
The perfect spouse.
The perfect kids.
And the perfect dream of whole-
ness and happiness that came in the
promise of all the above.
I was coming to the realization that
there was a deficit within my soul, how-
ever, and a new job, a new husband,
and a new life would not fill it up and
make me happy. Yes, there had been
plenty of moments when these things
had brought me a sense of happiness,
joy even. But the problem was that
because those things I pursued were
temporary, so, too, was my happi-
ness— forever fleeting.
I felt the way my son usually did a
week after Christmas. Having discov-
ered under the tree Christmas morning
that one special thing he had begged
for and could not live without, he
would be so happy he could barely
contain himself. Fast forward a week or
two later, though, and that very thing
that brought him to a place of eupho-
ria was now thrown in the corner with
last year’s “I can’t live without it” thing.
I was no different.
“Jesus, if you just give me this amaz-
ing job, then I’ll be happy.”
“Jesus, if you just help me lose this
weight, then I’ll be happy.”
“Jesus, if you just bring me that tall,
hot, crazy gorgeous, rich husband,
then I’ll be happy.”
But I wasn’t happy, even when God
blessed me with those things. The pur-
suit of things rather than the pursuit of
My pursuit of
more only left
me with
a case of the
“not enough.”
the One who blessed me with those
things often left me with a bad after-
taste. Kind of the way artificial flavoring
does. Those things disappointed me,
leaving me wanting more. But my pur-
suit of more only left me with a case of
the “not enough.”
Just love your husband more—but
it wasn’t enough because he left any-
way.
Just work more hours to climb
the corporate ladder—but it wasn’t
enough because I was booted out
anyway.
Just exercise more to get that per-
fect body—but that wasn’t enough
because that one extra chocolate
chip cookie blew up my thighs to look
like an inflatable inner tube anyway.
More was never enough.
Solutions 45