I am not a super-Christian. I am not the poster-child for “Godly Woman.” This has been my journey, my struggle, my story since my sophomore year of college. In my American Lit class, I remember arguing for an issue I really had no true knowledge on, I just know what I had been told to be right, and so I argued and argued in circles, trying to make sense of my own thoughts, and walking out defeated. Who knew that Chopin could have such an impact on a nineteen-year-young girl? After reading "The Awakening,“ and discussing it in class, I had my own strong enlightening: I realized that day that I will never be the Christian woman, wife, mother, friend, that I had always dreamt of. I tried for three long years to fit myself into this mold, because I believed the lie that it was the only way to win over the approval and affection I would do anything for, not only from people, but also from God. And this one magically-soul-wrecking day gave me a new freedom in realizing that, I am not play-doh: I cannot force myself into the cookie cutter and watch the pieces of my I don’t like be rolled into a separate ball of doh, because it wouldn’t fit in the shape. I can’t cut off the things I don’t like about myself. I realized the Beautiful Creator’s hands in my life and my creation: my crassness, my humor, my pain, my joy. This has been my journey: I am God’s girl, darn it [real word in brain: da**it], and I am tired of trying to be perfect.
I thought that this was a buried lesson. Today, I realized that it will be ongoing for my whole life. I remembered today, in a sweet phrase, that I will never be a "normal” Christian woman. My life will never have a seal of “average” on it. My soul is tortured at times. Plagued by my past sins, present shortfalls, and constant abuse. I cry out for justice, not just for the nations, but for myself. Where is the justice, Lord? Who is fighting for me? I can turn vomit green with envy at a moment’s invasion; and, usually, when the going gets rough, I picture myself running out the front door, away from the issues I know I have to face, because I have three precious faces looking up at me, dying to be fought for. I am filled with fear ninety-five percent of my days. Fear of failure, fear of heartbreak, fear of loss and rejection, fear of physical harm…you name it-I’ve got a phobia for it. Sometimes I even lash out on the people I love most, because they care enough to ask and seek and knock at the deepest parts of my heart.
I often leave the boys’ room weeping, after they are already asleep. We’ve read our story, we’ve said our prayers, we’ve said our goodnights. I remember that this is not a forever together, and that brings me to an anguishing reality. There may come a day where I will not ever see them again-these littles that I have treasured and nurtured and fed and laughed with and cried for for the last ten months. It could all be over in a single sunrise.
And I am reminded each day of how imperfect I am, and how I will never fit the shoes I once thought I had to wear to be a Woman of God. I will never be Kate [yes…another Kisses for Kate reference]-some days, it’s hard to find my smile. I can’t help but face the reality and share the reality of this mission: friends, it’s hard. It’s so hard, and I would not be honest if I told you it was easy; but I also know that if it were a cake walk, something would be missing. I think, sometimes, the ministry rests in the same heartbeat as the pain. And that’s where the beauty lies, too.
And I am reminded of Moses, called to lead his people out of exile after he just learns that they are, indeed, his people. The same Moses that was raised as an Egyptian was told to bring his new found kinsmen out of his homeland-all the while he was just learning how to be an Isaelite. And he led. He did not lead faultlessly, but he led anyways. And he fell, and then moved forward. He fell, took a breath, got up, and walked again.
And I realize that I am called to lead like Moses-I don’t know all there is to know about following God or about being a Child of God, but I do know this: I know His voice, I know His call, and I know that I have nothing else to do but fall, get back up, and walk forward. And once I stop forcing my square peg life and heart in a round hole, I realize the beauty of the shape of my life, my heart, and my self-not because I am anything magnificent or wonderful, but because I am wonderfully made, by a Magnificent Craftsman, made to fit perfectly where I am intended to.