perfection

when i was in fifth grade, i decided i wanted to be a teacher.

my teacher that year was brand new...new to our school, new to the profession, and even new in her cultural make-up compared to the other teachers I'd known. we did fun things stemming from her fresh-out-of-college perspective, and she loved me. i knew she did. the way her soft eyes corrected my talking lips was something i hadn't experienced the previous school year. she allowed me to soar. she trusted me. and i wanted to be just like her.

at the end of my fifth grade year, we were all given a certificate...kind of a superlative for fifth graders to call out some amazing insights about our futures. mine said, "professional educator" so basically how could i even CONSIDER any other professions? i was obviously meant to be a teacher and even my teachers knew it.

now whether it was my young age or my half-cocked decision to become a teacher that caused me to think even more deeply about my future, i'm unsure, but in that year and the two or three that followed, I began to dream about who I would become as an adult. i'd have to go to college to reach my teaching goal, but there was more to life than that...

i grew up in a large family. in eighth grade, my mom had my youngest sibling, my sister. and my mom was my hero, so to be even half the woman she was, i probably needed to have a large family, too, right? so i thought i'd have four children: two boys and two girls, to be fair and even. no one needs to be the middle child. i even named them. but it would still be a couple of years before i would start to dream about their father.

if you were raised in an evangelical youth group in the late 90s/early 00s like i was, you're familiar with the "worth the wait" movement. if you weren't, allow me to explain. it was a time when youth group leaders and sponsors decided to get involved in the teen pregnancy crisis in america and developed an entire curriculum, as well as clothing and jewelry lines, devoted to teaching teenagers that their virginity was "worth the wait" until marriage. every respectable kid in my youth group owned a "worth the wait" ring that we proudly displayed on the third finger of our left hands. i got my ring in seventh grade. i was 13. i had very little idea what it meant to "save myself" for marriage, but i HAD TO HAVE A RING. it was a conversation starter, a symbol of my snow-white purity, and it came with a card to sign, proving further my commitment to "God, my parents, and my future spouse". how holy of me, right? the movement lasted for a few years, and every year that i can remember, our church would have a special wtw service...usually in february when everyone was thinking of love. when i was 16, the wtw speaker encouraged us to make a list of the kinds of things we were looking for in a spouse, the person with whom we would build our adult lives. i took this charge very seriously. i wrote a specific list: he was to be a ministry-minded musician (more specifically a guitarist), with dark hair and eyes. he was to be about my age, tall, and love children (bc teacher! and the four-kid plan!). he was to be good with money, have a job, have a car, have a working knowledge of tools. he was to be strong and healthy and kind and smart. and, most importantly, he was to be a virgin, like me.

so basically, i had my life planned out by the time i was 16. i'd go to college, become a teacher, find God's list-perfect match for me, and have four lovely children whose names all began with d. how hard could that be?

but the list didn't work for me. it put me on a weird wild goose chase that resulted in self-doubt, and many disappointments and broken hearts before i finally realized the problem was not me; it was the list. i'm not saying it's not a good idea to think about the kind of person you want to marry, but creating this imaginary "perfect" person did not lead me to happiness or bliss. finally, towards the end of college, i slowly started crossing things off the list that really weren't that important like "guitarist", "dark hair and eyes", "tall", but i wasn't letting go of a few long-held views of perfection.

college graduation came and went, and i started teaching in the school where i grew up, the one in which i decided to become a teacher. i was very happy, but i still wondered if every guy i met could be my husband. i was pretty jaded about guys at that point, though...the list was a mirage. no one could be all that for me. so i decided i was going to have to be everything for myself. i veered from my life plan a bit. i put myself through ministry school and became a certified minister. i stopped looking at every guy as a potential husband and just lived.

not long after that, though, i met a man who tried very hard to get my attention. and while i had crossed many things off that "perfect match" list, there were a few things i couldn't seem to let go of. he was divorced...and he had a daughter. i didn't think he deserved my time. i had SAVED myself.

about six months and many prayers later, i crossed "virgin" off the list of things i was looking for and held his hand for the first time. a little more than a year passed, and we were married. i gave him my wtw ring and commitment card from 1997. i had saved myself for him, but these were no longer just symbols of my snow-white purity. they were now also symbols of God's redemptive love towards those who have failed in purity. (i should mention that my husband is the most perfect spouse for me. for everything on that list that he's not, there's another better thing that he is. he's passionate and loyal and funny and wonderful. and he loves me so much.) God showed me that my definition of perfection was not necessarily perfect.

i had the career, and i had the husband now. my step-daughter's name did not begin with d, though. i should've known then that my dream life was not entirely to be. we had a son, and then a daughter. i was starting to want another baby when the path curved again. an opportunity for adoption presented itself to us, and we took it without hesitation. we welcomed a 7-year-old girl into our family and gave her our last name. and just when i thought the curves might straighten out, i found out i was pregnant again.

so here i sit, six weeks away from my due date for our last child, a boy, who is undoubtedly an answer to our older son's prayers.

my life sometimes looks similar to what i had planned, but not entirely the same.

when i was 16, i thought i'd grow up to be the perfect wife with the perfect family in the perfect church. turns out i'm just a mediocre wife with a loud family in a pretty great church. i constantly battle that need for perfection...or at least perceived perfection. i don't want people to know that i sometimes serve cereal as an acceptable dinner option. i don't want people to know that i lose my temper and yell at the beautiful children with whom i've been entrusted. i don't want people to know i fuss at my husband about money. i don't want people to know i'm four days behind on a five-day bible reading plan or that i've spent more time on candy crush in the last week than i have on grading papers or that i have piles of laundry in the living room because it's easier for me to pick all the kids' clothes out of one pile than to go to their individual rooms and drawers. i'm a mess. a hot mess. 16-year-old me would be embarrassed.

but do you know who's not embarrassed? God. the one who made me and created everything about me actually delights in me exactly as i am. ephesians 2:10 is my favorite verse: "for we are God's masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago." this proves to me that there are things that only my messy self can accomplish in this life; plans that God has for me that literally no one else in the world can do. and He knew me before i was born. He saw who i would become, and yet He assigned this life to me.

so i've decided to just be myself. and i think that will be just perfect.

My Body: An Amazing Thing

As I stand at Week 34 of what will be my final pregnancy, I am amazed and awe-stricken about what my body has done and can do. This baby boy growing inside it now is the third to be housed in my womb.

Who taught my body to grow children?

On its own, my body nurtures and supplies for the growing child. It knows how to expand and grow to fit the baby, and from experience, it knows how to return to its previous state. Perhaps with a bit of extra skin, and a few tell-tale markers, but there will be a return.

And I am so thankful. I have abused this body, cursed it for what it isn’t, despised it. But in all honesty, it is a most incredible and powerful thing. It has gained and lost, it has hurt and healed, it has carried me to amazing places and spent beautiful afternoons at rest. It has run and skipped and swung and danced. It has served me so well. On it, you will find memories that I will always carry. One of a bicycle wreck across the top of my right foot, one of a tooth through my bottom lip, a couple of intentional memories forged in ink, marks across my legs and stomach to remind me of the beautiful lives that grew inside. This body. This strong, incredible body. It will take me the rest of the way. It will carry me into my last days. And I love it.