May the Scraps of my Life Be Woven Together to Create a Thing of Beauty

My sister and I are carbon opposites. If you saw us, you would doubt that we were indeed sisters (although, there is one photo on my mother's wall, taken at my sister's wedding where our heads are craned in toward one another and our faces look almost identical, merely graced with dark and light hair). We have always been different. Whether that is a grace or a burden, depends upon the timing of consideration.

A few days ago, my sister expressed some anxiety over her new position with The Salvation Army. She went from being a Divisional Youth Secretary (where she was involved with planning activities and camps for young people - something which is, undoubtedly, her forte!) - to sharing a city commander's position with her husband. It literally blew me away to hear her tossing out the term "worthless."

My sister is type A. When ES and I visited her, during their appointment in Key West, Florida, she hustled all three of her children in and out of showers every morning and night, had their clothes laid out for them the night before, disciplined at the moment discipline was needed, rallied her children to pick up their own mess as soon as they finished playing, preached Sunday morning's sermon, and juggled everything on her plate with extraordinary aplomb.

My best guess is that she is feeling lost as to her place in this new appointment. She is probably wanting to jump in and get things done. That is her style. That is her strength.

Which brings me again to the fact that she and I are carbon opposites. Ever since I read of her discouragement, I have been sinking myself. You see, if she can feel worthless, what in the world should I be feeling about my own life.

Apart from loving my boys with every fiber of my being, I don't really have much to show for my days. Indeed, they have left for another weekend visit with my in-laws and I am here, alone, bracing myself for another weekend of cleaning. I hate cleaning. I hate sorting. I have a hard time getting rid of things, even if, in theory, I desire the simplicity that my husband craves for our lives.

The thing is, if I could manage to organize myself better during the regular days, then I would not need these extra weekends trying to catch up on what should really be able to be accomplished in the normal hours of my housewife work-week. However, I don't organize my time well. I am anything but a type A. I find it hard to motivate myself to pick up the endless messes (or even to rally the troops to pick up their own messes), to plan a schedule of meals and have it placed on the table at a set time in the evening, or to get my children in their beds on time. I live a loosey-goosey existence. A lot of what I do depends on what I feel like at the moment. I lack self-discipline. I lack passion and vision for what I want my role to be.

Instead, I spend much of my days fighting my role (even though it is one that I personally campaigned for - if we were going to have more children, I did NOT want those children to be raised by day care workers instead of myself). I resent the expectations that I keep an immaculate house. I resent it mostly, because I feel incapable of ever living up to those expectations.

Then there are my own personal goals and dreams. Somehow, parenthood (and I understand that this is a SEASON - I know I am giving up parts of myself to focus on my children while they are still small because it goes by in a flash) has side-lined any of the things I value and enjoy. Before I became a parent, I made lists of things I wanted to accomplish in life. Now, the thought of making a list of things I want to accomplish seems daunting, unless it is a list of things I want to do with my boys before they no longer are willing to spend time with me (oh, we have been dreaming this week of a trip to Canada next spring to see the thousands of red-sided garter snakes in their snake pits at the Narcisse Wildlife Management Area!).

As I was looking at the disaster, which is my home, waiting to be tamed, I took my classic route of avoidance and logged on to read blogs. One blog I enjoy (but only visit every couple of months or so) is written by April, and is called The Two Regrets. She has four children and relishes every moment of her summer breaks with them (last summer I enjoyed reading of their trip to Mackinac Island). Of course, when I read of her successful trips, I find myself wishing my children were more like her children (with a love of reading and calm dispositions), and that seems like kind of a crummy thing to put upon them (to wish they were something other than what they are).

There are many things I appreciate about April's blog. She loves words and quilting, and her writing is often beautifully direct.

When I read this post, I began to feel a ray of hope. My life is certainly a pile of scraps on the floor. I love how she brought this image together of the quilt - a thing of beauty made of scraps stitched together during hours of loving, painstaking work.

However, I lack two things. I lack her network of supportive women (all stitching away, with her) and a belief that I, myself, am the one sewing these scraps into a thing of beauty. If I were at the helm (don't know if a sewing machine really has a helm - ha!), even with the help of others, my machine would, no doubt, get jammed and create a whole new mess.

Thankfully, I am relying on the Lord. I certainly pray that this is what the Lord is going to accomplish with my scraps. Moreover, if He is the designer, then I can rest assured that the final product will be good - even if at times I feel like all the scraps of my life are dull pieces of uninteresting, worthless fabric.