“L ook.” He’s standing there at the edge of the kitchen table, hurt and honest

“When I try to get close to you at all, Ann? You just snap my head off, and I’m just kinda done with it, Ann. Done.”  

It’s all too much. Way, way too much.

Maybe what we all are most deeply afraid of is feeling too much.”

Too much? What exactly is he saying is too much?

Me? Is he saying I am too much? Is he saying my feelings are too much?

Is he trying to say that he can’t handle what I’m feeling because it draws him into feeling, and that terrifies him? Maybe what we all are most deeply afraid of is feeling too much.

“I just really need—space, Ann.” And he turns away.

I throw in a load of laundry. Fold a pile of towels. Say nothing. Space? I can give him all the space in the world.

Difficult? That looming one word from those ancient counselling files that the therapist forecasted for our marriage. Is it happening? Is this becoming a difficult marriage?

One night after I’ve kissed kids’ foreheads goodnight and they’ve all burrowed under blankets and I turn out the lights, what’s deep into the dark places of my mind, what I think he thinks, on replay, in all the ways:

I am too much. I am too much. I am too much. And I am not enough, not enough, not enough. Somehow, who I am will have to disappear.

This is the way of how many women? Feeling like you’re not enough can be just one way of saying you feel like you’re too much.” 

You’re never too much to be loved and you are always more than enough to be loved.”

Why can’t he want more of me, instead of less of me? Why can’t I be more for him, more of what he needs? Why doesn’t he cup my face and whisper, “You’re never too much to be loved and you are always more than enough to be loved”?

Why can’t I lean into him and say, “I want all of you and trust you with all of me”?

Why does it feel like we’re losing the promised land and waking up back in Egypt, choking dry sand in our mouths?

Fear that I’m too much, fear that I’m all wrong, fear is driving a lot of my wrong turns and sharp curves, and it turns out that all the wrong turns compound.

One small wrong turn here, one slight wrong curve there, leads to largely different destinations. Ever so imperceptibly shifting habits begins to dramatically shift who you are.

As the sun has the power to thrive or shrivel a leaf, so relationships can either heal trauma or actually cause it.

I don’t know how many weeks later that I find myself curling up in a chair in the corner of our bedroom, weeping.

He eventually comes, finds me, but before I even let him begin to apologize, I’m shaking my head, a wave of words rising, swelling, breaking, and breaking us both.

“You say you’re done with it all being too much, that it’s all far too much? Well, you know what? I hear what you’re saying, loud and clear. I hear you saying that I’m far too much. And I hear you not saying that you like me. I hear you not saying that you love me. Well, guess what? You win, you win. You? You maybe don’t need to be stuck with me after all.”

He’s too hurt, wounded—stunned—to say anything.

Doesn’t want to get too close to my edge.

And I walk out the door, wishing I could find a way out of all of this… out of me.

This is the most tender, vulnerable story I’ve ever told — of how I almost blew up my marriage, our life…. us. Everything.

A story that, turns out?

I will break his heart in a thousand ways.

I will end up utterly shattered and broken by my own heart-twists and turns.

I will end up flat on a hospital bed in literal heart failure… before the narrative that had been screaming loud in my head for months and months —years? —- finally is choked out through tears in a hospital room:

“When I heard that I was too much . . . I just wanted to take all of me and just . . . go another direction, any other direction, and not be a burden, not be an obligation . . . just . . . not be at all.

The hospital heart monitor quiets.

“Whatever was said,” His voice is hushed but earnest, honest, “can you hear me now, really hear me?”

You feel much, see much, love much—but you aren’t too much.” He’s stroking my hair.

You feel much, you love much—but you aren’t too much.” 

“Remember?” The Farmer’s trying to find my eyes. “Remember what that Messianic Jewish teacher, Arie Bar David, once asked you, like a test, what Jesus said was the beginning of the greatest commandment of all?”

“Yeah . . . ” I’m remembering, “and I had tentatively offered the commandment that echoed the Shema, the most important prayer in Judaism: ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength’” (Deuteronomy 6:5).

“And our guide had interrupted you,” the Farmer’s nodding.

“Yes, and he’d used both hands while he was talking,” I can see it all over again, like the guide was was giving me clear directions.

You aren’t too much,

like the stars are never too bright,

like the moon is never too large or luminous,

like the wonders of the world are never too much.

“Listen. In the original Hebrew,” our guide had said. “Jesus quotes the most important prayer to God’s people, the Shema: ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart—with all your feelings and affections—and with all your soul—with all your life-breath, your whole self—and with all your very, very, much. With all your very muchness.’ Me’od—muchness.

Our Messianic Jewish teacher, Arie, had smiled.

“Love the Lord your God with all your very, very much.”

All your very, very much — is made to love God much.

To hesed-love God. To hesed-love in the right direction.

Everything starts to brim and spill.

You aren’t too much,
like the stars are never too bright,
like the moon is never too large or luminous,
like the wonders of the world are never too much.

You aren’t too much to the people who choose to see all of you.

You do not have to shrink small. You do not ever have to make yourself disappear.

Your muchness may make you feel like not enough — but your muchness is your strength.

Your muchness isn’t a liability — your muchness is how you love much, how you love large.

Every woman’s muchness isn’t a vice — every woman’s muchness is her very strength.

Your real muchness is your real strength.

Every woman’s muchness isn’t a vice — every woman’s muchness is her very strength.

Love the Lord your God with all your heart—
and with all your soul—
and with all your very, very, much.

Love much with all your very muchness.

Your real muchness is your real strength.

And I looked up into his eyes — and the way of everything — starts to completely turn around.

–Excerpt from WayMaker: Finding The Way To The Life You’ve Always Dreamed Of


If you’ve Ever Felt Like Too Much…

WayMaker Is Here to Turn the Way Of Everything Around

And, on this last day to PreOrder WayMaker & receive the free 40 Day Audio Devotionals, could I invite you “On The Way” to love Jesus with all your very beautiful muchness…….

Could we walk together, through this season toward the Cross and Easter? Can we journey through the high waves of our Red Seas and through the long lonely stretches of our wildernesses?

Spring is coming. Easter is coming. Hope and newness of life arises!

This journey I’m personally inviting you into is ultimately about keeping company with Jesus, The Way Himself, so we walk out of Resurrection Sunday morning, truly made new. What an honor it would be to travel with you — our humble gift & thanks for your preorder of WayMaker

Join the journey in two easy steps:

1) Pre-Order WayMaker
2) Then sign up at WaymakerBook to receive the free 40 Audio Devotionals in your inbox

(P.S. Today’s the last very day to Pre-Order WayMaker & receive all the PreOrder gifts as our family’s thanks, including the 6 episode family video series from the farm!)

THIS PRINT, AND OTHERS, AVAILABLE WITH EVERY PREORDER!