It is a strange thing to be profoundly loved, to know you have been created for a high purpose to God’s glory, and to also be acutely aware that your life is fleeting, a drop in the bucket at best, even if lived out to 80, 90, 100 really good years.
“What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun. Is there a thing of which it is said, ‘See, this is new’? It has been already in the ages before us. There is no remembrance of former things, nor will there be any remembrance of later things yet to be among those who come after.” Ecclesiastes 1:9-11
These are long, hidden days where the monotony can cloud over me in a mind-numbing fog of back and forth between food prep in the kitchen (because why are we eating everything and nothing ALL DAY LONG) and oft-feigned excitement about playing hours of make-believe in the living room. I’ve got a heart full of dreams that may or may not come to pass. I appreciate the encouragement to pursue them, and pursue them I will, but I’m not convinced they are guaranteed if I just believe and work hard enough at it all. I’ve got vision and desire to be involved in changing the world, but some days I can barely manage my impatience with my kids. I am brought down from the clouds over and over, to right here, right now, change starts here.
I’m fully known and seen and significant, and yet I am small and fleeting like the grass, here one day and gone the next. If my work in a pediatric ICU has taught me anything, it has taught me this: Nothing about my life is a given, and the world goes on without me. I may live 95 years and leave a legacy as a thought-provoking author with phenomenal children who will be lights in their generation. I may live just one more month and all my thoughts of book writing, all my dreams for my children, all my vision to be a part of world-changing work could die with me in a freak accident. It’s not to be morbid, it’s to say that I matter and I don’t all in the same breath, and there’s something strangely liberating about both sides of that coin. I am restless against all my constraints – the incessant duties of motherhood, the indiscriminate nature of potential disease and tragedy, the maddening inertia of writer’s block. But one day my kids will leave the nest, and one day someone else could write the book, probably better. It wouldn’t mean I was loved less or tasked with any lesser purpose. It would just be my kids’ time to go, and someone else’s time to realize an important dream.
At the end of the day, what I realize is this.
Nothing is owed to me, but grace has been given for today.
So I’ll play make-believe and stack blocks, and I’ll make the effort over and over to not send a message that the passions of my little ones are any less significant than my own. And I’ll write, and dream, and if there is a God-ordained time for some fruition of these seeds in my heart, then it will be from Him and for Him.