An author I follow on Facebook shared a blog post today that she had written about not knowing what to do with her life. She was having trouble focusing on her next novel, changes in her job (that she used to love) were causing her stress, and she wasn’t sure what her next big move should be.
I pondered this as I was getting ready for work. It was early, I was tired, and I was about to leave to take my son to morning weights at his school. For just a few moments, I allowed myself to relate to that post. I could empathize with her plight of having a lackluster job. My ambition to have a writing career is still just a pipe dream. For about ten minutes, I wallowed in the self-pity of wondering who I was and where my own life was going. I felt adrift. Like my anchor was overboard, but its rope was too short to find a foothold.
Grabbing my purse and heading for the kitchen, I met my son in the hallway. “Mom, can you sign my electives sheet for next year?” He waved a piece of paper at me. We sat at the dining room table and chatted for a while about which classes he’d chosen as electives for his upcoming 8th grade year. It hit me, suddenly, that this year, his 7th grade year and first year of Junior High School, was coming to an abrupt end. The months and weeks and days had flown by and summer was fast approaching. I would only have five more years to cherish these mornings with my son as he prepares for school. That’s when a new panic set in. Right now I’m a bona fide mom. I drop off at early practices and cheer from the stands at sports events. I sign permission slips and help with homework. I do laundry at midnight when he “just remembered” he needs a certain pair of shorts for gym class. After five more years, what will I be?
I’ll tell you what I’ll be. I’ll still be a mom. I’ll have had the honor of raising a fine young man who says “please” and “thank you” and helps clear the supper dishes. I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing that my son was raised knowing the value of working hard and saving for things he wants, though he never had to do without the things he needed. I’ll be content to know that he has grown up with the influence of teachers, coaches and mentors who taught him how to be a part of something larger than himself. I’ll be overwhelmingly grateful that my only child has grown to know Jesus and has accepted Him as his savior. With a few more wrinkles and many more memories to cherish, I’ll be no less the mom I am now.