Your Something is Enough

Even small steps count when taken in the right direction.

Enough. It’s one of those words that context means everything.

In the setting of a celebration as a decadent desert is spooned onto my plate, “That’s enough,” said with a smile is a heart warming reminder that all food is just food and I can completely enjoy without shame while still recognizing I don’t want or need to mindlessly shove twenty spoonfuls in my mouth.

In the setting of our home, “Enough,” incites immediate obedience from my children as they attempt to climb the walls or some other completely normal-crazy-pants-child thing they’re doing for the umpteenth time that day.

Yet, in the sphere of healthy living, it is more commonly a reminder of short comings. No matter what I’m doing, it’s still just not quite enough.

Maybe you bring that definition of the word with you today. No matter if that’s the case or not, you are welcome here. Your something is enough. It may not always look like it or even feel like it, but I was reminded today that given the right context the something I have is always enough. Let me tell you about Lucky.

June is a crazy weather time here in Kentucky (ok, let’s be real…one of the great things about Kentucky is that the weather obviously has a mind of it’s own that it just so happens to change more often than most people change thier underwear). As such, our five or six days of melt-your-face humidity led into major wind storms mixed with rain and a bit of hail here and there. Then, an hour or so later the only evidence remaining was our lack of electricity and Lucky.

“Mom! Jet is eating a baby bird! We have to save it!” the cry came from across the yard just under The Play Tree.

I did what any farm-mom does…

“It’s ok honey. God made dogs that way. They eat things like birds. If you take it from him now, it will just die a painful death instead of a quick one.”

(Yeah, I’m THAT mom.)

“But it’s just laying here and it’s breathing.” Obviously my life lesson was not sinking in, so I leisurely made my way to The Play Tree. Sure enough, there lay a baby bird peacefully in the grass. Oddly enough, there was no blood or evidence of chewing (our shoes, socks, shirts, porch furniture and multiple other things can attest to Jet’s chewing skills - the complete lack of harm was shocking).

By now you know I’m a little odd, but here is a characteristic that is a little weird even for me. I totally recognize the circle of life and enjoy meat often while still having an absolute soft spot for animals - I even save spiders. (Weird…I know) So, I scooped the little bird into my sweat-shirt covered hand and gave it a look over. It was breathing with no apparent injuries and no momma bird in sight. My mind raced with my complete ineptness for caring for a baby bird crippled further by a lack of electricity. Excuse after excuse came to mind, but in the end there was no way I could just walk away. In our home we live for Love and strive to walkout the “See a need, meet a need” attitude. This baby bird needed a momma.

We had just become Momma Bird.

With a little cajoling it opened it’s mouth and accepted our best attempt at a smashed worm meal - it was less than impressed. My farm-kid brain mixed with my doctor brain and I thought, “What has carbs, fats and protein but is smushy?” I recalled the leftover pancakes from the kids’ breakfast and got to work making it into a mush that could be fed via syringe. That meal - once I was able to get it’s little mouth opened - was responded to eagerly. Seeing as it survived it’s first meal as a Keller, we happily made it a nest from an old bath towel and plastic shoe box. It then set up residence in a small box in the bathroom. Lucky ate several more meals, seemed to enjoy conversations led by enthusiastic children and even settled when held a time or two. Once the commotion died down, it was time for bed and he (we decided he was a he because bird anatomy is not our area of expertise) settled in without concern.

I had doubts about him making it through the night. Yet, I woke early to a faint “cheep” and he once again happily accepted his pancake mush. Lucky it seemed would live up to his name. It seemed that our efforts would prove to be enough. I researched (electric was back on by now) what baby birds should eat and learned that I had messed up royally. Don’t open it’s mouth (oops). Don’t feed worms (oops again). Don’t feed grain based foods (oh hot mess).

Instead, feed mashed egg whites or even water soaked dog food. Since we had both, I got to work. He was still chirping and seemed to be comfy in his little towel nest. The dog food proved to be too thick for the dropper. The egg white seemed to work just fine and even resembled a little worm treat as it exited. He seemed to want to eat and swallowed well. We left for a quick family trip to town and when we returned an hour later everything was different. Luck was just sitting. He seemed to be breathing slower, but not in a restful way. I figured I was attributing human illness knowledge where it was not welcomed and we simply monitored him. Lucky did not ask to eat again. His breathing continued to slow over the next several hours. We still loved on him and tried to talk him into eating. We even reverted back to our pancake feeding ways. None of it was enough. Lucky fell asleep and then simply never woke back up. All of our effort and love simply wasn’t enough to keep Lucky alive. We buried him and gave him a rock head stone. A prayer was said. Tears were cried. Lessons - hard life lessons - learned.

By now you’re either thinking, “This is heartbreaking” or “This is completely insane, it was just a bird”. There’s a point - I promise - just hang in there.

We failed to feed Lucky the right diet. We couldn’t have taught Lucky to fly (trust me, my husband interviewed the kids last night to see if any of them had any qualifying flight skills). What we had to offer and the little bit we did appeared to be an utter failure. But was it?

I don’t think so. Lucky taught us that love matters. Lucky taught us that life isn’t fair and can often be sad, but that doesn’t mean we stop living. Lucky reminded me and showed my children that we don’t have to get everything exactly right - or even get the outcome we wanted - to live life well.

Let that sink in.

What choice(s) are you choosing to let hold you captive because you didn’t get it right? What are you letting whisper that you will never be enough? Friend, it is not true. You are the good kind of enough.

written by Kelli Keller