We had an activity at church the other day that really
caused me a lot of anxiety. I am sure it
was never the intent of the women that planned the night to have anyone in
tears, but I was and I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind since. It was supposed to be a getting to know you
activity with each woman bringing four or five things that represented her and
we would all guess which lady it was. A
mid-life crisis of sorts set in as I tried to think of what I could put into my
mystery bag. Dance shoes? Haven’t danced in years and this body could
hardly be mistaken for that of a ballerina.
Some of my writing? Nah, my
writing these days consists of grocery lists, to do lists and homework
help. That dream of one day being
published was put on the back burner a long time ago. So I added a book by Shakespeare. “Shakespeare?” my husband asked, “Have you
even read Shakespeare lately?”
“No!” I answered, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to!” I
said through tears.
I thought of countless other things I wanted to add to my
bag but none of them really seemed to describe me anymore. And for the first time ever, I was a little
bugged that I was ‘just a mom’. Now,
don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love being a mother. It is the best, most fulfilling and most
meaningful thing I could ever do with my life.
I am amazed as I look at my children; taken aback by their goodness,
their knowledge and their abilities.
Motherhood has taught me so much about Christlike love, sacrifice,
eternal potential and real joy. I have
never, ever regretted for even a millisecond becoming a mom to these five
amazing people. But children don’t stay
little forever and, even though I will always be their mom, they won’t always
need me. So who am I? When my husband is gone and my children are
grown, what does that make me?
I read beautiful obituaries each week of incredible,
accomplished women. They were pillars in
their communities, they volunteered, they led in their churches and in various
service organizations. They were
well-known for their cooking or sewing or painting or fitness or
friendships. I cook and sew and can and
clean, and occasionally even paint my toenails, but none of them well. I can change a diaper with one hand and make
a mean mess of mac and cheese but that is hardly noteworthy. I certainly wouldn’t be called upon to teach
a mini-class on how to clean a toilet or wash a mountain of laundry.
I don’t want motherhood to define me; I want it to refine
me. I want it to round out all the
things that make up the person I am and put the crowning touch on my
accomplishments. And while I will always
look at carrying and bearing and teaching and raising my children as the
greatest thing I have ever done, I want to be more than somebody’s mom – I want
to be somebody. Sometimes I feel like I
lost myself somewhere in the diapers and the dishes and the daily mom routine. I have been so busy growing these little
people and helping them to accomplish their dreams, that I forgot about my
own.
And I feel guilty for even typing those words because my
kids are the very most important things in my life. I would never want to pursue my own dreams at
their expense. I guess I just feel like
I have been blessed with so much and have so many opportunities available that
I could be more.
I yearn to make a difference, to leave a mark on the world
and to be someone who inspires those around me.
I want to create something beautiful that could move someone to
tears. I want to give someone a
life-changing chance. I want to
accomplish something unique and leave the world a better place because I was
here. I want to work toward a
dream. I guess I better figure out what
that dream is.
