Am I the only one who misses it?
Because at the risk of sounding ungrateful and whiny, I sometimes pine for my old life. The way it was exciting and wide open and untethered. I miss living unrestricted to do big stuff with God. And the thrill I got from it.
And quite frankly, sometimes this mom thing doesn't feel big. Or adventurous. Or thrilling. I get lost in the find another episode of Dora and break up another fight and fix another snack sameness of it all.
In my darker moments I'm completely jealous of my husband. The way he has seeming freedom to pursue goals and plan plans and pull it all off. And I can remember when I had that.
Enter Titus six years ago. Then two more since then. And I know lots of people have way more than that, but wow does it feel like a lot today. Because all of these little people mean someone needs to care for them.
And I can't figure out a way to do that well and all the other big stuff too.
So that girl with the unfettered sense of adventure is in an adventure slump. For six straight years.
Meanwhile there is still a corner of my brain that hums with a constant working of big ideas. And I can't shut it up.
I have all those same dreams and desires AND kids. But without the confidence that I can still do the big stuff. Or the conviction that I should do the big stuff.
Because isn't raising kids big enough?
Before I had them, I thought it would be.
This is so not a conversation about the worthy pursuit of motherhood. I already know what I'm doing is important. But can I bear my soul without judgment for two seconds and say
Sometimes the other important stuff seems like more fun.
I've had this conversation with Jesus one billion times in the last six years.
I whine and complain. And ask him why He gave me all these dreams and then asked me to put them on the shelf.
He reminds me that there is a time for everything and a season for every purpose under heaven.
I ask Him if I'll still have a brain by the time my season gets here.
He asks me to be a living sacrifice, dying to self so I can train up these children in the way they should go and love them the way He loves me.
And I try. I really do. But the thing about being a living sacrifice is that it can crawl down off the altar. At will.
I see the altar in the distance and realize I'm off it again. I wish He would just tie me on, already. Sometimes I wonder how many times I'll repeat the scenario.
Probably until I'm all the way dead.
Until then, I pick up the baby who's crying and sit down to the tea party in Anna's room. I breathe a repentant prayer, asking for the grace to love and train the tiny chicks He has placed in my nest.
It won't be long before they fly. And I want them to be ready for the adventure.