I get asked every so often, “So, would you ever get a degree?” To which I promptly say, “No. Probably not.”
When I was 18, I went to college for two weeks, and bailed with tears streaming down my face. I packed up and ran in only a few hours. I was not ready. Not ready in the slightest. I have never regretted it; the only thing I regret is literally fleeing as though someone was chasing me. I probably looked a little crazy.
On the contrary, I got married and had three boys within four years. Apparently I was ready for that. Not necessarily prepared, but ready.
Occasionally I think about what I’ll do when my boys are in school, busy with friends, and I’ll actually have time for myself. Will I have a very clean house? Doubtful. Will I bake all day? Sometimes, but also, rather doubtful. Will I watch TV? Yes. PBS Kids will be gone forever, and when that day comes, I will rejoice. I’d like to think I would fill my time with great, productive things. But if I’m being honest, I really just want to write a book. I look that ideal in the face and think to myself, “I am not ready for that.”
Let me call you up as I call myself up.
Writing, for me, isn’t about money, fame, or notoriety. If one woman reads this post, if one person reads a book a write, and God somehow moves in His mighty way, then I must consider that enough. And ideals? They’re only for an ideal world in an ideal time with ideal people. This world is not that pretty. So ideally? I will play it safe until I can play a little riskier. But I’ve already decided this place isn’t ideal in the least. So let’s make lemonade out of these lemons.
You aren’t ready. I’m not either. I wanted to stop being an adult yesterday because I was overwhelmed with life. Money, preschool, naughty boys, yelling (from me, AND the windows were open again), feeling less than. You know, some days I just want to truly give up and give somebody else this job of being all that I have called myself to be.
What I have called myself to be.
I think I have to keep this house in order, or else the order will collapse. I think I have to be the writer I am not in order to be successful as a writer at all. I think I have to be the nurturing disciplinarian who never raises her voice above a whisper. I think I have to worry deeply about how my family will be provided for. That’s what I’ve called myself to be. And you know what? It’s all for naught. All a bunch of destructive criticisms. All a bunch of lies.
I’m never going to be ready, especially if what I have called myself to be is a bunch of examples of women who look nothing like me. Who don’t have the personality that I do. Who aren’t a mother to my kids. Who don’t have the heart that beats inside my chest. We can’t be ready if we’re waiting to reach expectations of women we were never meant to be.
Who am I? A child of God, ambassador to the Kingdom, co-heir to the throne, one day sitting at the right hand of the father, covered in the blood of a sacrifice, a woman who has the right to be seen as the woman I was created to become. Not the idea of ideal. The idea of perfectly created, intricately woven, identity firmly planted by a mighty Creator. That’s who I am.
We are ready and readied by the knowledge of Christ in us. By the power of His Name. By the righteousness of His blood. By the love of the Father. By the grace extended to us day in and day out. We ready ourselves by arming ourselves with the gospel, grace, mercy, and love. Buckets of love. He’s got a lot to share through you.
Call yourself up. Give yourself your name and know that you already have everything you need to be ready. He’s given it to you.
Ready to make lemonade out of these lemons?