I made honey cranberry butter for my family and passed them out without explanation.

A simple twine ribbon and tag marked “enough”, I gave nothing else.

It occurred to me today, whether they’d wondered about the word, “enough”.

I thought of the gift of enough, what it means to me, the acknowledgement of good.

The value I place on good, not what makes my whatever I have enough; but, the resting acceptance and contentment of what is mine.

This life of mine.

We parked under an old oak this afternoon,  a homeless woman and I.  No family to visit on Christmas weekend and choosing to be alone, she’d decided to stay with people she knew in an emergency shelter.

So, we spent an hour or so together, waiting for the time the shelter allowed the homeless back in.  I offered again, “come to my house.”  Again, she declined.

I understood, told her so, better to be in a place you already know than a new place that makes more clear your lack.

For ten minutes or so we waited under the big tree for the shelter to allow her in.

“The leaves are pretty on that tree.”  she said.

They were.

Bright yellow leaves on the low branches, the high branches bare from Autumn winds and tall limbs reaching up towards the sky.

I went inside the shelter with her, hugged and said Merry Christmas to her and the women working the weekend.

I thought of her as I drove home.

Straightened my house, unloaded heavy bags of food and started making plans for dinner.

The house warm and the guest room now empty,  I plumped up the pillows and admired my little thrown together decor I’d created for my son’s girlfriend’s visit.

Remembering how I’d decided, a sprig of greenery circling a little bird dish and three tiny Christmas ornaments to rest in it’s hollow space, it was just enough.

Enough, pretty and simple, softly shining colors.

Colors, soft like grace.

Grace enough.

The gift of enough.

Grace upon grace…from His fullness,

I have received. John 1:16