Sometimes I long for adventure.
I dream of being special, famous, admired, astonishing.
And then I wake up to the baby's fussing, and bleary-eyed go into the nursery and fetch Nekoda and change his diaper and cuddle him close, almost nodding off into dream-land again while he nurses. The rising sun pours into his little Aspen-wood-paneled, blue-checkered room...
and we all live happily-ever-after, right?
WHY do I struggle with contentment in this life? I start this little blog project, and suddenly a world of other blogging women come into my periphery. I compare and feel inadequate and think my story here is so boring.
Yet I'm daily overwhelmed with the mountain family-life; piles of laundry before me, the chaos of hoped-for-budgeting, juggling babies, shuttling teenagers... The green smoke of vain-glory taunts me with a desire to go hike distant lands, to build orphanages, to author books, to pursue admirable & astonishing adventure!
All the while, little Nekoda is growing so fast, almost 9 months old, laughing & babbling, army-scootch-crawling all over the living room, tiny arms that squeeze Mommy's shoulder as he tucks his peach-fuzz head under my neck...and I'm gonna miss it...cause what? I want a more adventure-worthy story?
There's a calendar here on my desk, that somehow channels the Holy Spirit about once a month. So yesterday, Holy-Spirit-calendar hits me with this:
It is better to master one mountain than a thousand foothills.
"The man who plants and the man who waters have one purpose, and each will be rewarded according to his own labor." -- 1 Corinthians 3:8 NIV
Serene turned two last weekend. She is sitting in my lap, right now, as I type this. Her golden-brown hair smells so sweet; little hands tucked against my tummy, chubby pink-toenail-painted feet on either side of my hips. I squeeze her close and she tips her face back up to me, chewing a 'treat' - overjoyed with herself, "dry pants, Mommy! gedda treeeet!"
She's not always serene, but most days I could just eat her up with a spoon. A few days ago, she sat with me just after I had showered, her nose inches from mine, fascinated with the dark-transformation of my dripping hair. Toddler-hands stroked my wet head, as she whispered earnestly, "So bootiful, Mommy...you so bootiful." What a gift, this little girl. What a responsibility, what an epic pursuit, to raise her into a godly young woman.
This is my mountain for now. A season for planting, a season for watering...in this season I have a purpose of grand adventure with its own labors, with its own sweet rewards, with its own sort of fame.
"And let us not grow weary in well-doing, for in due season we shall reap, if we do not lose heart." -- Galations 6:9
Do you need to be reminded of the glory of your own adventure, in it's due season?
