I have been thinking on this quite often lately: what does it mean to be content? (that is a whole other post) Why am I not content? I have been thinking of this in relation to my little home and family. Is what I am doing really “important?” Is it “significant?” I have been asking myself some serious questions along those lines.

What if this is all there is?

Well, what if it is? Is that really so bad? I have a husband that really loves me, beautiful children, and the opportunity to stay at home with them. And yes, I have to listen to the whining and be responsible for their education and spiritual development and never have even a bathroom break by myself. This seems like a pretty good life to me.

What if I’m not doing the right thing?

Am I doing all I know to do in the Lord? Well, that’s all I can be responsible for. I must trust God to take care to let me know, and be faithful to listen. And there will ALWAYS be opportunity to work through this one. When do we ever feel 100% sure we are “doing the right thing?”

Isn’t it important for me to feel fulfilled?

If I believe I am truly in the will of God, then I should trust that I’m not missing out on something. And there are two words that make me cringe when I see this question written down: me and feel. I have to get beyond my feelings. And beyond myself. My sense of fulfillment doesn’t come from changing diapers or wiping snotty noses, or even from doing a relatively good job on a given day. My sense of fulfillment comes from knowing I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing, whatever form that comes in. That takes the sting out of the bad days for me.

Am I making a difference in the world?

We all have a desire to make our mark on the world, to feel like we left it better than we found it. If I am home all the time how can I possibly impact the world or fulfill the Great Commission? Well, I am raising my children to love God and their fellow man and to reason. I am making a difference in their world. Also I am involved in my local church. and missions (my DH is going to Cambodia next month). and my neighborhood (we live in town). So I’m doing what I can where I am in this season of my life. In another season those obligations and opporunities will change.

What I am coming to realize is that one person is as important as a million. My writing is no less spectacular because only my children saw it. My handmade book no less wonderful because it was a gift in secret. If no one sees my work but God, that’s all I need to know. “Well done, thou good and faithful servant” is what I’m really chasing, not the accolades of men. I want to be satisfied that I did it for an audience of one. My work is no less inportant if it’s not published or seen and commented on by the masses.

Will I ever have time to do what I want to do?

If I am always cleaning, cooking, studying, and doing things for my family, when do I have time for me? I understand that personal time is important for a well-balanced life, but I don’t want one more well-intentioned person offering me a warm bubble bath. I want to know when I will have time to do things I am passionate about: bookmaking, public speaking, writing, sleeping (just kidding!). It sounds so selfish to say out loud, but when is it my turn? Well, I suppose “my turn” comes when my children have left home, or are older. When I got married, and then again when we made the decision and God blessed us with children everything changed. It’s not about “me first” anymore. It’s about these little beings who need a mother to be invested in their lives. This is a lesson I am still learning because for some reason this hasn’t come easily to me. My children need a mom who listens to their silly songs, mediates their arguments and cleans up their vomit. They deserve a mom who will be present in the moment and not so distracted with her own wants and perceived lack of “me time” that she misses the glorious life happening all around her.

What a precious gift I have been given, to invest my life in another. Where else do I get that chance? Where else am I loved so unconditionally and accepted to freely? What other opportunity do I have to give all of myself in such an exhausting way and enjoy the satisfaction that what I am doing really does matter? It’s not about the masses on the internet or in great concert halls, it’s about the chubby faced dragon-slayer who’s found some wonderfully disgusting creature in the garden he wants me to meet. To that boy I am everything. So I savor it. I drink it in like a thirsty woman lost in the desert. The numbers don’t matter but the audience. And my audience of four means more to me than any world-wide project.