my little one is now 8 months old. he is the epitome of all that is sunshine and moonbeams and rainbows in my world.
which is lovely.
see, i never thought of myself as being overly maternal. when i was pregnant i proclaimed that i would most definitely be going back to some kind of stimulating work environment. that i would obviously go insane if i couldn’t have my megan-time. that i had a world to change, a calling to fulfill, and no pooping, wailing little one was going to change that. i silently criticized those who went on about wanting to ‘just be a mom’, believing that was what people with no ambition said. i’m beyond embarrassed to admit to it, but there it is.
so you can imagine how harshly i-have-a-calling megan has been judging moonbeam megan. it’s all out war.
i mean, surely God expects a heap load more from me than what i’ve currently got going on? this world is in the toilet, and He’s supposed to be thrilled that i’m dancing ’round a cluttered living room with my babe (who, incidentally, is bubbling over with giggles)? is He going to give me a standing ovation when i wash the towels? make a dinner without setting off the smoke alarm? change my thousandth diaper? i don’t think so.
but see, then i read this little story from the ragamuffin gospel:
” a married woman in Atlanta with two small children told me recently she was certain that God was disappointed with her because she wasn’t “doing anything” for Him. she told me to she felt called to a soup kitchen ministry but struggled with leaving her children in someone else’s care. she was shocked when i told her the call was not from God but from her own ingrained legalism. being a good mother wasn’t enough for her; in her mind, neither was it good enough for God.”
i’ll admit i kind of broke down after reading that. because i realized that i-have-a-calling megan is full of crap. because it really has nothing to do with God. or a calling. my uppity attitude is completely and utterly rooted in pride. such an ugly thing. but a thing that i have wrestled with for all of my adult life. a preoccupation with perception. i want to be able to say something impressive when i inevitably get asked “so, what do you do?”. i want it to be brag-worthy. superwoman-esque. special. in short, i am utterly terrified of the ‘just a mom’ label. and how i’ll be viewed. and judged. how’s that for superficial?
but then there’s my boy.
my always-reaches-his-arms-out-to-me, melts-my-tough-shell-until-he-finds-the-nougat-y center, tubby little love of a boy.
and he’s kind of changed things.
yet God’s purpose for me has not changed. He’s hasn’t filed me as ‘missing in action’. sighing to Himself, “yeesh, another one with a baby. well i’m down a recruit for the next ten or so years”. to God, i am fumbling down my path exactly as He intended. precisely as He orchestrated. and right now, that purpose seems to be my little love. maybe that will shift in a couple years. heck, maybe that will shift in a couple weeks. but right now, i am smack dab in the center of His will.
and that’s bucketloads more than enough for Him. i’m quite sure my son agrees.