My daughter is whining. My son is in a puddle of tantrumy tears on the floor due to a mysterious offense. Persistent 'go to the ant thou sluggard' poison resistant sugar ants are marching boldly across my counter tops to the remnants of lunch long past. Clumps of fresh dog hair have materialized in places I just vacuumed. I close my eyes. I can see it. I'm running. As fast as my legs can take me. I don't know where, but it's somewhere crying and dog hair and ants and laundry don't follow me around in maddening cyclic waves. And maybe I'm screaming. I don't know but I'm definitely running.
Lately I've been fighting some negative emotions. Discontent. Frustration. Fatigue. A sense of entrapment. I feel chained to housework that is never finished and painfully redundant and preschoolers with such a wild range of emotional crests and troughs it's almost manic. And somewhere framing this silohette of discontent is the outline of a dream I once had.
At most points in my life from about age 5- about 5 years ago if you asked me where I'd be at this point in life I knew the answer. I didn't know where I'd live but it wasn't America. Africa, Peru, and India were front runners. I'd be practicing medicine in the throws of the third world, making a difference, living a different kind of life than the average American consumerist, and leading an exciting existence. Never once in my childhood (that I can recall) did I envision being a homemaker or holding my own babies. Never a dream, never a fantasy, never a hope.
But the good Lord obviously has had different plans than me, and in clearer emotional moments I can certainly see their wisdom. But sometimes the things I now love most in this world feel like nails in my shoes and all my blessings can start to feel like bars. Sometimes I compare my life to the childless people around me and wonder what it would be like to be so untethered. So free. I start to envy people who seem to be living my dream.
But that is my foolishness. Because what looks to me like freedom may for all I know feel like loneliness. And I am humbled to know there are people who see me as living their dream. And what if I was childless living 'my dream' in Africa? Well I'd be facing a lot of different challenges and frustrations and redundancies. It is, after all, our heart's perspective and not our circumstances that bring joy. And if I can be discontent in a life with a loving, amazing husband, healthy and generally speaking fun and precious children, in a place I can live and work without fear of political upheaval that leads to bombs falling near my house and never a fear of not enough food or clean water, then guess what. I'd be discontent living any dream.
I've been thinking a lot about joy lately. I'm reading a book that talks about how the joy God gives is not one more comfort for the western life, but that which frees us to take on hard tasks, to sacrifice and give up our comforts. It is the strength we find for mission and mercy. When I'm feeling spent with my two kids I don't have the energy to help others out, or to even see people around me who need that help. But if the joy of The Lord is my strength, if I can be happy in the midst of laundry and sugar ants and tantrums, then I have the energy to do more good. And to do it with true and genuine joy. I don't want my happiness to be completely dependent on my circumstances- or on my current perception of those circumstances. I want it to be dependent on God's grace, love, and faithfulness. Because unlike my tolerance for house pests - those wells never run dry.
Lately I've been fighting some negative emotions. Discontent. Frustration. Fatigue. A sense of entrapment. I feel chained to housework that is never finished and painfully redundant and preschoolers with such a wild range of emotional crests and troughs it's almost manic. And somewhere framing this silohette of discontent is the outline of a dream I once had.
At most points in my life from about age 5- about 5 years ago if you asked me where I'd be at this point in life I knew the answer. I didn't know where I'd live but it wasn't America. Africa, Peru, and India were front runners. I'd be practicing medicine in the throws of the third world, making a difference, living a different kind of life than the average American consumerist, and leading an exciting existence. Never once in my childhood (that I can recall) did I envision being a homemaker or holding my own babies. Never a dream, never a fantasy, never a hope.
But the good Lord obviously has had different plans than me, and in clearer emotional moments I can certainly see their wisdom. But sometimes the things I now love most in this world feel like nails in my shoes and all my blessings can start to feel like bars. Sometimes I compare my life to the childless people around me and wonder what it would be like to be so untethered. So free. I start to envy people who seem to be living my dream.
But that is my foolishness. Because what looks to me like freedom may for all I know feel like loneliness. And I am humbled to know there are people who see me as living their dream. And what if I was childless living 'my dream' in Africa? Well I'd be facing a lot of different challenges and frustrations and redundancies. It is, after all, our heart's perspective and not our circumstances that bring joy. And if I can be discontent in a life with a loving, amazing husband, healthy and generally speaking fun and precious children, in a place I can live and work without fear of political upheaval that leads to bombs falling near my house and never a fear of not enough food or clean water, then guess what. I'd be discontent living any dream.
I've been thinking a lot about joy lately. I'm reading a book that talks about how the joy God gives is not one more comfort for the western life, but that which frees us to take on hard tasks, to sacrifice and give up our comforts. It is the strength we find for mission and mercy. When I'm feeling spent with my two kids I don't have the energy to help others out, or to even see people around me who need that help. But if the joy of The Lord is my strength, if I can be happy in the midst of laundry and sugar ants and tantrums, then I have the energy to do more good. And to do it with true and genuine joy. I don't want my happiness to be completely dependent on my circumstances- or on my current perception of those circumstances. I want it to be dependent on God's grace, love, and faithfulness. Because unlike my tolerance for house pests - those wells never run dry.
