Since those playground days I’ve grown to love my freckles, appreciating that these angel kisses (who told you they were sun damage?!) are something that makes me “me.” The only awkward thing about the stage in my life where I hated them was the fact that I listened to some 10 year old boys and let their thoughtless words become my reality.
A few months after we had Henry, I attended a work event with Tyler that a few potential clients had flown into town for. Small talk has never really been my jam, so I have to put on my big girl pants to go to these things (and usually drink wine).
I started having a conversation with one of his client’s girlfriends, who was only a few years older than me and already had a wildly successful career. She stood tall in her stilettos and spoke with calm, measured words about her work and her travels. I listened, in awe of the life she had built for herself at such a young age. Suddenly I realized the conversation had turned to me.
“So, Kelly. Where have you and your husband been traveling lately?”
Umm. “Well….” I thought. “I’ve carried, birthed and nursed 2 babies in the last 18 months so sometimes if I time things juuuust right between nursing sessions, I get a lovely little vaca to the neighborhood Target where I order an Americano and bask in the soothing glow of fluorescent bulbs while perusing the dollar section for super cute polka dot gift tags that will surely end up forgotten in the bottom of a dresser drawer… Hmm… Oooo and if I really want to take a good ‘holiday’ I pour myself a glass of wine and retreat to my sofa to watch The Bachelor, where I promptly fall asleep. I haven’t seen a rose ceremony in 2 years! It’s the peak of luxury, let me tell you!”
I didn’t want to make her envious of my super glamorous lifestyle so I just said “We haven’t been traveling a lot with the babies, but are hoping to plan a weekend getaway when my son is a bit older.”
The woman stared at me for a long moment, poorly attempting to conceal a smirk. “Aww, well that’s ok.” She patted my arm and then mumbled something about refreshing her ¾ full glass of champagne before disappearing into the crowd.
I felt tiny, standing there alone, and soon went off in search of the man who had convinced me to marry him and then impregnated me… twice… crushing the vision I’d once had of getting all my ducks in a row before I even thought about this life. I never doubted that I wanted to be married someday, but kids? I really hadn’t thought much about it. I was an only child for most of my life, I liked kids, I babysat all the time... but I really liked having the ability to go home to my own space where there was peace and quiet and books that weren’t about talking elephants. I had never thrived in chaos and I just didn’t know if I had the skill set to be a mom.
The truth is, Tyler didn’t have to convince me of anything. When I met him, my dreams just changed. They didn’t change FOR him, they changed with him, and because of all of the new things I discovered about myself in a relationship where I could be the realest version of Kelly there was and still receive unconditional love. I remember watching him interact with his sweet niece Bella, a month into dating, and just knowing he was going to be the father of my children. Wait, what children?! Who were these “children” I was suddenly dreaming of?
Fast forward 3 years to me staring at a perfect, tiny little human that God had somehow entrusted Ty and I with, feeling like a fish out of water in a strange land of play dates and minivans. So wonderfully fulfilled and grateful and simultaneously fighting a daily battle against feelings of inadequacy and emptiness. Who let me make such a big life decision without, at the very least, filling out some sort of personality assessment?! Had I unknowingly thrown myself another awkward phase?
Our church is currently in a sermon series on the life of Moses. And let me tell you, the man chosen by God to free His people and receive His commandments has a lot more in common with us mammas (and dads, and students, and pretty much everyone) than you might think.
We live in this culture that places such obsessive value on purpose. What is your purpose? Are you seeking out your purpose? Are you living out your purpose?! This push is compounded by social media, where we can daily scroll through a reel of beautiful snapshots that exude drive and success. Instagram is like an episode of "Friends," isn't it? We see the 2% of the day where besties are sipping coffee from oversized mugs, laughing together on a burnt orange sofa at their favorite coffee shop... but rarely the 70% of the day spent quietly filling out paperwork in a gray office. (Look, I get it. I post the pretty stuff too. No one wants to see the nasty dishes that have been sitting in my sink all day or the mound of diapers in my garbage.)
But what I think can happen, on a search for purpose, is that we forget the beauty of the minutia. Grasping for a sure and immediate “purpose,” we forget how, for a season, the minutia can be our purpose. The middle FORTY years of Moses’ life was spent tending sheep. The last FORTY years were spent wandering in the desert. He wasn’t parting seas every day, y’all.
As a stay at home mom, for instance, the loving rhythm of diaper changes, meals, clean up, books, puzzles, bedtime, laundry, laundry, laundry, laundry… (You get the point. But really, can someone explain to me mathematically how each tiny new baby increases the laundry tenfold?!) can lead me to actual feelings of guilt… I start to feel like I’m not engaged in society in a meaningful way and yet I’m still so freaking exhausted. Who are these energizer bunnies starting non-for-profits and serving on the PTA and planning dinner parties every week? My main goal some days is to keep my babies fed, alive, and relatively happy, and to keep the pile of laundry to be washed and/or folded from reaching the ceiling. It sounds an awful lot like minutia, when you put it like that.
But if Moses, arguably one of the key players in the story of the Bible, spent 40 years of his life quietly and faithfully tending sheep, then who am I, Kelly Barnett, to downgrade the blessed role of quietly and faithfully tending to my children, day in and day out? Who am I to call it minutia, and let my restlessness to BE something NOW (insert foot stomp) stand in the way of seeing what a miracle it is to build a Lego tower with a little boy who grew in my belly?! Who am I to say that there is anything more glorious and life giving than lying in my daughter’s bed while she scratches my back and tells me an imaginative bedtime story about an adventurous traveler following a treasure map to find his favorite rainbow shovel?!
“If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself; tell yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches." -Rainer Maria Rilke
The desire for purpose is, intrinsically, a good desire. But what I fear for us mammas (and CEOs and presidential candidates and, again, pretty much everyone) is that we’ve confused the appearance of purpose with actual purpose. We’ve grown to value the high of loud, big picture achievements over daily, quiet acts of work and service... the "minutia" that make up the majority of a life... even the life of a man like Moses.
If you, like me, feel as if you spend most of your days tending sheep or wandering in the desert, uncertain that you are even doing the “little” things right and unclear about what the future holds, I’d like to encourage you that there is a season for everything, that your work is meaningful, and that he who is faithful with little will most certainly be entrusted with much.
Xx
kb
Author's Note: My mom sent me this today. Of course, it's perfect (and much more succinctly put than my musings):
"Obedience is not a moment: it is a process connected by countless moments. Jesus neither started obeying nor finished obeying in John 12. In the midst of Jesus journey, he felt troubled. Clearly, then, a troubled soul is not always the sign of a faith deficit. A troubled soul is sometimes the signature of obedience-in-the- making."
40 days of Decrease
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