Yesterday, we celebrated my father’s fiftieth birthday. This year, I will turn twenty-five. My father was twenty-five when I was born…
It is strange how as we are young and yearning to run, time seems to drag; and when we are nearing the end and slow to a crawl, time starts to sprint. I wonder how time progressed for men and women of the Bible who lived well into the triple digits. If Methuselah had a mid-life crisis, would it have fallen around his five-hundredth year? Judging from the pitfalls and sins of so many of the people of the Bible, it is easy to see that it is simply human nature to spend whatever years you are given foolishly. To live a truly meaningful life is not possible without Christ.
My life has not been without blemish but because I have accepted Jesus as my Savior I have access to the purest joy man can possibly know on earth.
If I could be known for one thing alone, I would hope that at the end of the road the ones I love would say, “She was a strong woman of God, a loving mother and devoted wife.” But not only this, I want people to know me. Most people have wonderful things to say about a person after his life has come to a close, like they were “generous, caring, compassionate, selfless…” and a myriad of other praise-worthy qualities. How do others see me?
It has come to my attention recently that there is only one person in my life who really sees me for me (outside of God of course). That person is my husband, Ray. He knows my insecurities, quirks, fears, goals, dreams, mistakes, joys, sorrows, struggles and the list goes on. We do not keep secrets from one another and if we even try, it never lasts long before we cannot bear it any longer. He knows me in such an intimate way. From my favourite colour, to my hopes for the future, he has a pretty good grasp on what my answers would be.
My parents, younger brother and my uncle would be next in the line of people who know me well, but unfortunately they know all too well who I have been. Sometimes, despite the fact I have been married for nearly five and half years, I am a mother to a beautiful seven-month-old baby girl and own a home, I feel like I am still seen as the flaky teenager they knew before I got married and flew from the nest. Any missteps, any decision I make, it is always going to be filtered through the parents-know-what’s-best ideology or the you-are-just-my-big-sister mentality. I do not feel like an adult when they are around and maybe it is in part to my own perspective or behavior but I have not been able to shake that feeling.
Really, I want to only care about whether I am who I want to be or not. I want to be like the women who always appear to have it together but my heart is firmly stitched to my sleeve. I want to be known for having an immaculate home not for always apologizing that the place looks like it has seen months of neglect. I want to be seen as a woman not a child; a woman who has yummy and healthy meals spread out on the table each day, dresses like a young lady ought, has her hair in place and a brilliant white smile beaming across my face. (Oh, dentist how I wish I could afford you!)
I want to be Ray’s cheerleader, keep the sparks flying in our marriage, devote time to God and family, raise our daughter to love the Lord and boldly live for Christ, sharing my faith not only in action but in word.
It is entirely possible I sell myself short. It is just as plausible that people I feel do not know who I am anymore know me better than I believe to be the case. Part of the problem is, I have become an almost entirely different person than I was when I walked down the aisle, clad in a lovely, handmade, wedding gown.
The hobbies I was interested then have collided with my new attitudes and no longer are things I want to invest my time in. For instance, scrapbooking was a hobby I thought I could really get into as a way to pass the day while my husband was at work. After all, it appealed to my artsy side. My interest has since waned; whether due to the over abundance of pictures I now have stored on my computer, the cost of ink and photo paper, my time-conscious mind saying “It’s more important to just get them put in an album” or simply a lack of motivation, it just is not something I have touched in over a year. Perhaps I’ll take it up again but I am more interested these days in learning a skill that I can use to make heirlooms.
With dismay, I realized that since I do not know how to sew, knit, crochet or do woodwork, all the lovely handmade keepsake items I have from my grandparents and mother will be things that end with these people. A jewelry box, dolls, stuffed animals, quilts, afghans, sweaters, knitted pillows, doll clothes, my hope chest, a child-size coat rack, keepsake cabinet, my wedding gown, a prom dress, Christmas ornaments, a painting of a pig and a cross-stitch heart are all among the items that I cherish because they were made by family. So, I want to learn a skill like this that can be used to create memories and treasures.
I am not famous. When I die there is very little chance there will be much fan fair. It is strange those we laud and praise in death over the people who truly make marks on the world that matter. I will not write a number one radio-friendly hit. My name will not be among the nominees in the “Best Actress” category for any award show. Grammy, Oscar, Olympic gold medal, none of these will be proudly displayed in my home. No, I will not be remembered in a tribute or retrospect that reaches millions upon millions. But, I hope to be like the lady who uses every bit of energy she can muster to get ready for church in the morning, neatly brushes her thinning white hair, pins a broach to her blouse and stands for each hymn, singing praises to her God and King.
The woman who knocks on doors on her day off, sharing the good news of salvation or the woman who sits in church on Sunday, her children and grandchildren by her side is a woman who has made a larger imprint on the world than any pop star or tabloid-darling. This is the kind of woman I desire to be.
It is important for me to leave precious mementos to future generations. Genealogy interests me because each name on that family tree was a life with a story. My story is still being told and I honestly do not like dwelling on when the book flips to the last page. However, when that page is reached, regardless of what my hobbies were or the colour of my eyes, I want it to be said that I lived life to its fullest; accounting for every moment. May it be said that I lived like that last page was not “the end” but instead a “to be continued”; because while no one wants their life to blow out with his final breath, at least I know that even if I am forgotten on earth, my name is written in the Book of Life and He will not forget me in Heaven.
This is the woman I want to be; making every heart beat count.
“Let every thing that hath breath praise the LORD. Praise ye the LORD.”
~Psalm 150:6
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