The temp

There are times when I think about what I’m currently doing as temporary. Thoughts about what my life will be like when my kids are grown, and I can do what I’m really called to do, flit through my mind. Daydreams about what’s ahead distract me from what’s here and now.

Someone once told me that raising my children is good preparation for my future ministry.

Fear comes, that people will dismiss me because I play with toddlers all day. Worry that I’m falling behind the rest of the pack, with nothing more to put on my resume for the previous years than “changed a kagillion diapers.” Anxiety that I’ll never achieve what I want to achieve.

“This is a temp job,” I tell myself.

However, when something is temporary, you don’t invest in it. If you’re renting a house, you don’t treat it the same as you would a house you own. A seasonal position does not receive the same level of work as a career.

I have to repent.

It’s not that I didn’t (don’t) want to be a mom. Even less does it have to do with a lack of desire to stay home full-time. We chose to have children. We chose to have FOUR children. I chose to quit my job and stay home. I DO NOT want a job, in the traditional sense.

But…

in the last couple of years I have allowed something to work it’s way in. I didn’t think too much of it at first. It seemed like such a dream.

I want to write.

I want to share my story, my words, my experiences with others. I love it!

Writing takes time. Time is not something I have a lot of.

So, each night I stay up way too late tapping out a blog post. Hoping that the late hour isn’t apparent in my garbled words. Praying that God will give me inspiration.

Like an addict, I want more. I have lists of people I want to contact. Half-started posts pile up, ideas that pop up during the day and haven’t yet reached maturity. Opportunities come and slip away as I’m feeding, brushing, wiping and doing the dishes for the umpteenth time.

Over and over I tell myself that this too shall pass, someday I’ll be able to sit down in a quiet corner of Starbucks — because that’s where you have to go to write if you’re serious.

Look again at those words — This Will Pass.

The Psalms liken our lives to a vapor. A wisp of smoke blown away by the slightest breeze. We are temporary.

And if I’m not careful, if I don’t pay better attention, my children will grow up and on and my investment in them will be the same as someone renting a home. There will be some memories, but not much permanent will remain.

Being a mom is who I am; who I will always be.

It is the best thing I will ever do. Regardless of any personal accomplishment I make in the future, my children will be the ones surrounding me at the end of my life. My children will be the ones who remember me the most after I’m gone. My children are shaped and trained by the things I’m doing today.

Here.

Now.

Present.

I need to repent of thinking of this time when they’re young as a moment to get through, and recognize that it is a time that will never return to me again.