Quote, Summer Little’s Senior Project, 2005:
“My greatest aspiration in this life is to be a housewife.”
“My major goal in life is to have a family.”
Excuse me while I take a minute to laugh hysterically at Summer Little, the most naïve, day dreaming schemer I’ve ever known. Yes, at 18 years of age I had my life panned out. I wanted to be a Mom. Sure, I dyed my hair blonde and red and obsessively sported American Eagle apparel around the clock, but deep down I imagined the day it would be ok for me to have an A-line and a pair of khaki chinos on. Classy chic. Ha! If you follow this blog regularly, you’ll gather that unlike Summer Little, Summer Krismanits spends most of her days praying for grace, taking weekly trips through the sliding glass door to the wooden bench on the deck just to close her eyes and ask God why this doesn’t come more naturally. Why isn’t this easy?
Rewarding? Yes.
Unpredictable? Definitely.
Job of the lifetime? You couldn’t pay me to work 40 hours a week. (that’s because I do it for free!)
There are days where I literally cannot get over how incompetent I am to do this job. And it isn’t the kid raising part. It isn’t the spending an entire day at home and not having time to do anything for myself. The main source of my irritation with myself is that my house doesn’t look like Country Magazine. No matter how much I Pinterest, the pillows I sew all come out flat. The curtains I hang have crooked hems. The painting I hung in our bathroom looks like a 5th grader made it. My kitchen chairs, which I stained and covered cushions on, all currently have some type of clothing draped over them. And since I never got around to nailing the seats back down, at least once a day one of the kids topples off the wobbly cushion. They think it’s a game. My garden is pitiful. And the past five mornings my kids have had cereal for breakfast, which I wouldn’t care except a blog popped up on my newsfeed recently about how cereal is void of nutrition and the heaviness of the guilt was such a burden to me I was just trembling on the couch trying to shake it. Sometimes it’s just all too much.
I am the worst kind of perfectionist. I am one that gets so overwhelmed with falling short, that I do nothing. And now that we’re moving, my head just spins with all that has to get done. I am scared out of my mind. Last night was one of those nights that sitting on the couch watching a movie with my husband was just not in the question. The crumpled furniture, mismatched curtains, pictures toppled over on the bookcase, cereal guilt…how can I relax? I took a deep breath and went outside to find the Lord. It was such a perfect night and I wanted to be with Paul, but somehow the badgering question of, “Well, what do you want to talk about?” was not suiting my mood. I just needed rest.
I heard a sermon the other day that was about just being yourself, and how without that ability, you cannot live up to your full potential in the kingdom. Then that night, my devotional delivered the same message: “Be who I made you to be, beloved.” I just wanted to shake my head and run from those words. I don’t like that person. Sure, I am about ready to throw my sewing machine out the window. Flush my paint. Just uproot my sad pepper plant and throw it across the yard. And seriously, my living room would be better off with no pillows at all. I am just trying to get to that place when the Lord says, “I am ok with who you are,” that I can nod and be ok too.
God gave me a word at the beginning of this year and it was that we would begin to see multiplied what we have sown. Not just in finances, but in the prayers we’ve covered people in, the time we’ve put into our family, and for me, the effort I have put into knowing myself. I “sew” a lot into projects because I want to bless my family, and even though I feel like I epically fail them, I am trying to move past that guilt complex and understand that at least I tried. And God isn’t going to let all of my pressing into His plans for me go to waste, even if I get some things wrong. The problem with the guilt complex is that after awhile, I get really afraid to step out. I don’t feel worthy to dream, after all, look at the mess I‘ve made of all of these things I am trying to be good at. Ok, dreaming is obviously not for me. The Lord gave me a picture of a house in Redding with flowers planted in the front yard and I just sobbed. I want a flower garden. I want to be good at growing things, but I just shook my head because I’ve tried that and it isn’t working. Do I really want flowers, or do I just think that good moms should know how to plant flowers and keep them alive? There is always this battle in my mind of what I want next to my limitations.
The Lord showed me a picture again of the house with the sweet and modest lawn. Yes, I do want flowers. Why can’t I grow flowers? I opened my eyes and shut them fast because seeing my deck full of 50,000 matchbox cars, two old outfits that needed to be taken inside and washed, and at least a bags worth of trash snapped me back into reality that perfect just wasn’t going to happen on my watch.
“Be who I made you to be.”
I imagined my house again. One seed at a time. It will grow if it’s on God’s watch. If He put the desire in my heart, I’ll have what it takes.
“If I supply it, it’s enough for you.” He is always going to be enough. I may not always be enough for myself, or for my kids, but coming into the realization of God’s heart for me has been changing my life. He wants me to be me. I have to be ok with being me if I want to touch His kingdom for good.
*Deep Breath* I really don’t care that my house is sort of messy right now. The kitchen is clean, laundry is caught up on, my room is spotless, the kid’s room got reorganized yesterday. I am doing ok. My garden is not fruitful, but it isn’t dead either. My heart nearly broke yesterday when a girl I’ve been following at the Pregnancy Center was upset when I told her I was moving. Something about being a place where people can be vulnerable makes them not want to lose you. I think about everyone I know who is good at sewing. Good at photography. Good at painting. Good at being trendy. Why do I feel the need to hold a mirror up to them and try to see myself? God reminded me that I am writing a novel. I like to write. That‘s me and that’s ok. Jake has been making it a habit every day to say “Mommy, I love you. You are a good Mommy.” I mean, what else is there?
The problem with my senior project is that my real goal wasn’t to be a “mom,” it was to be a “perfect mom,” but that isn’t possible. But God in me is perfect, and when I align myself closely to His heart for me, for my home, for my family, the unfolded laundry in the dryer and the wrinkled shirt I’ll wear the next day is the least of my concerns. Right this second, He loves me. He needs for me to be myself. He is a safe place.
Something about the breeze last night, the sun setting sky being all of my favorite colors, and having one on one time with the Creator of the universe….it really does make all others things seem so small. Even the task of being me.
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