I was one of those little girls who stuffed pillows under her dress while playing house. I was always the Mom, with my little sister, Emily, playing my first child, and the pillow on it's way to being my second. Even then, I knew being pregnant was part of woman's life, and that eventually, I would be married and carry a baby in my tummy too.
Fast forward to college- even though I no longer stuffed my shirts with bed linens, I still dreamed of a perfect family. Perfect husband, perfect marriage, both of which inevitably led to perfect children and a relatively perfect life. I don't mean to say that I thought it would be smooth sailing- I just meant that it would turn out exactly as I had always imagined.
Isn't it always interesting when fantasy fades into reality? Since college, I have watched my 'dreams' give way to this life- the one where I turn out to be living in Zambia as a single-mom to a 2 year-old boy who has special needs. There is no perfect husband present in this picture, which in turn nixes the idea of the perfect marriage-thing. My son is certainly not what the world would call perfect. And yet, I have come to love this life.
The seas here are by no means calm and balmy, but then again, I don't think they are supposed to be. They are meant to be my training ground in depending upon and trusting the God I claim to be my own. They are designed to show me my own incapabilities in contrast to His capacity to do that which is otherwise deemed impossible. They are purposed to shout forth His glory and fame to this ever-darkening world.
I don't know where we'll end up, or where this path will lead, but I reckon I will have guessed it wrongly from the very beginning. And I think I'm OK with that.
No comments:
Post a Comment