In Spite of Me

Sometimes I wonder. 

As I bend over a child,

Patiently guiding. 

Or as I try and fail to explain. 

Or as I look into their eyes when they want to defy.

I wonder. 

Am I doing enough? 

Am I being enough? 

Am I saying enough? 

For all the times they did something and I didn't see. 

Or I let something slip that should have been corrected. 

And I'm reminded again, I don't know how to do this. 

I'm not enough. 

So I take my pieces,

Sometimes scattered, here and there, 

And hold them out to Him. 

"Here.

"It's all I have. 

"Please somehow use it." 

And He does.

He is. 

Not because of me. 

But more often, in spite of me.