You know the scenario.
It’s five o’clock. Your husband is supposed to be home but he isn’t and you need a glass of wine but it isn’t evening yet so you let the kids pull all of the pots and pans out of the drawers and go “shopping” in the pantry and you try to come up with something half-tasty for supper all the while lamenting what you could have been, were you not a mother with boys.
One of whom just peed on the floor and the other of whom, dumped rice in the pee.
And that’s when you get it.
Your dream. Your big huge stupendous dream. You finally know what it is you’ve been called to do. Maybe it’s to be a speaker, or an author, or a lawyer, but whatever it is, it’s something other than this.
And you’re thinking of leaving the tomato sauce simmering on the stove and rushing to the computer and writing a post about it or an email to someone or something, just so you don’t lose it.
The promise that you are something OTHER than this woman with the dark circles and the pulled back hair who can’t remember the last time she wore something other than sweats.
And then, something stops you.
Something prophetic tugs at your sleeve and you look down and you see your boys. You see the way they are your one of your greatest endorsements. You look at the tomato sauce simmering–you have food to eat!–and the messy house–you have a house!!–and the piles of laundry unfolded on the dryer–you have a dryer! and clothes! and a family to fold them for!–and suddenly, it’s enough.
No. It’s more than enough. It’s a blessing.
And every tug on the leg of your pants by the one-year-old with the crusty nose, every offering of a book to be read, every tear longing to be wiped, every meal begging to be eaten is a chance to serve, and this, when we become everything.
When in fact, we become nothing.
Because it’s then that we’ll have gotten out of the way and allowed our families, our children, our husbands, our friends, to see Christ. And what greater dream than to give the ones you love a glimpse of Jesus?
It’s not wrong to want more.
It’s very natural. God gives us many dreams and callings, and I’m not saying you shouldn’t send that email or write that post, at some point.
I’m just saying, this is a dream come true, too. This motherhood. And sometimes I forget that. So I hope, by reminding myself, I can encourage you too.
Live the dream, sisters. Because soon, our homes will be full of nothing but time in which to write those emails and posts–and our greatest longing then will be to cuddle a child and read him a story.