I had a dream last night. It felt very real, even after I woke up and realized it wasn’t.

I dreamed they took my foster son away from me and gave him to a family who could do a better job. I didn’t know it was going to happen, in the dream. It just up and happened and away he went and the worst part, maybe, was I thought they could do a better job, too.

It haunts me still this morning as I breakfast him and send him to school, and as I drink my coffee and mix the muffins and as I sit and write these words.

It haunts me because somehow that dream found me and knew me. The weak-kneed me, with the fear and the wondering and the you-are-not-good-enough feelings.

Not a good enough wife or mom or believer or writer or…

I can tell myself the true words. I can tell myself I’m grace-living and all of that – these are the true words I know and cling to – but now and then the underbelly surfaces, in a dream or a vulnerable moment, and I lose my breath.

It’s a breathless way to live when I’m chasing after being good enough, and I think I’ve left that race far behind. I think I’ve let all those running people pass me a long time ago until a dream knocks me to my knees.

It’s funny though, because that’s exactly where I need to be. On my knees, and I breathe him in and I breathe him out and my heart settles.

Because he is enough and he makes me enough and whew, I can breathe again.