This week, a good size chunk of my heart will be in Kentucky.
My husband and a group of our youth group kids will be at EKU attending “Momentum”, our national youth conference. I want to be with them. I cried today because I’m not. And I feel left out.
I’ll miss the fantastic speakers, the incredible worship times, the girl chat in the dorms, the inside jokes from the road trip, the opportunity to share God’s Word with girls I’ve never met, the front row seat to watch God work in our kids, and the time serving shoulder to shoulder with them.
Plus I’ll just down right miss my husband.
This isn’t the first week this summer that I’ll be on my own. Out of the past 6 weeks, the boys and I have spent 3 of them at home while Adam has been at camp or youth conference. It’s been a difficult transition for me this year…not being able to be as much of a part of Adam’s ministry this summer…but God always uses these times to make me reflect. Yesterday I read in Joshua 4 about how the people took stones out of the Jordan as a reminder to let their children know what God had done for them. And since I’ve been determined not to let myself forget what He’s done for us, my mind went back to last year at this time.
At “Momentum” last year, my heart was still grieving the baby we lost and my mind was still flooded with the fear that I wouldn’t get pregnant again. There is one session from that week that sticks out above the others in my memory. It wasn’t because of what the speaker said or the words of the songs we sang. It was the voice of God gently whispering to my aching heart.
“Megan, it’s time to move.”
Not time to move geographically or time to “get over” the grief that I felt. Rather, time to move on to something new…though I had no idea what.
I remembered trying to be vulnerable with our kids that night as I shared in tears that I felt God asking me to shift my focus toward something different. I thought He was preparing me for a new avenue of ministry or a different way to invest my time or help my son or husband.
Little did I know that my gracious Father was even then, in that moment, already forming this little guy in my womb.
The week after returning from youth conference last year, we found out that we were expecting Tobias Samuel…though we didn’t know then who he was (or even that he was a “he”) or if we’d get a chance to know him this side of Heaven. I was scared. Really scared. I recorded my thoughts and the restlessness of my heart (see “Fearless” post).
As I read back over those words last night, I was once again overwhelmed by God’s grace, mercy, and faithfulness towards us. I could barely look at our sweet Toby without crying. How could I complain about being stuck at home with him and his big brother?
Like so many days, I needed a perspective check.
During church this past Sunday, our friend Brian shared about what God has been doing in his heart and life since his accident. (I share some of his story in my posts, “Traffic Delays and a Rainbow” and “Thank you for God…”) As a result of chemical burns, he lost much of his vision and is still waiting for his eyes to be completely healed and his sight to be restored. He spoke of how losing his sight has changed how he viewed life and others. Though he’ll probably be able to see normally again some day, he said, “I hope even then I keep seeing without my human eyes.”
I hope I keep seeing without my human eyes.
Oh, Brian, I need to do the same.
My human eyes tell me that a week at “Momentum” would be much more exciting, refreshing, and beneficial than being at home with kiddos taking care of the every day mundane. My human eyes tell me that I’m missing out or that I’m needed more there. My human eyes tell me that this week will be too overwhelming and exhausting without the help of my husband here.
But my perspective check reminds me that God has called me for something new. This summer I have a sweet baby that we prayed for and dreamed of. This summer I have an almost 4 year old that loves and needs my attention. This summer I’m learning to see with different eyes.
So this week, I may not get to hear the challenging speakers…but I’ll cling to God’s Word for dear life to make it through the week by myself.
I may not get to speak in front of a room full of girls…but I’ll read Bible stories and pray simple prayers and discipline a little boy when he needs it.
I may not get to participate in worshipping alongside thousands of other believers…but I’ll sing “Jesus Loves Me” and “Our God” as many times as Isaiah requests them. And for goodness sake, we will dance!
I may not be exhausted because of late night sessions or counseling girls in the dorm…but my nights will be spent snuggling a little boy after nightmares and washing sheets after accidents and nursing a baby in the wee hours and rocking him when he won’t sleep.
I may not get to be a part of the funny stories I’ll be told when the kids get home…but I’ll hear knock-knock jokes that are only funny to a 3 year old and we’ll play baseball and sword fight and cars on the floor.
I may not get to build someone a house or feed the homeless…but I’ll change diapers and feed hungry boys and kiss away boo-boos.
I may not get a “thank you” or see the tangible evidence of my ministry…but we’ll pray for the group in Kentucky and I’ll see without my human eyes that God is doing a major work here in my home, too.
While on a morning jog a few weeks ago, I noticed the grave stones in a cemetery I passed by. Many of the stones simply had one word across the top of them.
They didn’t say what job or ministry these women had, how much money they earned or how many people they had helped. The role that seemed to be defining for them was that of being somebody’s Mom.
When my boys are bigger, I’ll be able to invest more time into the other roles that I have…but for now…for this season…I will remind myself to relish in the calling God’s given me to be their Mommy. The most difficult and most exhausting and most joyful and most rewarding and most important job I’ll ever have.
I’ll choose to look without my human eyes and see what God has done and is continuing to do in my heart.
And I’ll thank Him for helping me see a little more clearly.