Later that night, I am getting ready for bed
and notice a little piece of paper sitting on top of my pillow. The angular hand-writing is instantly
familiar. I unfold the note with
curiosity, and read my child’s tender words:
“Dear Mom. I love you so
much. You are not a faler.” I laugh through my tears at the irony of the
spelling error.
Am I a failure?
I certainly feel like one often enough.
I have a friend who is a gifted homeschool teacher, with perfectly
organized lesson plans, creative unit studies prepared well in advance, a
teenage daughter who writes stories in her spare time and a son who speaks
several languages. That’s not me.
I have another friend whose charming home is
spotless and gorgeously decorated, who makes delicious and nutritious meals for
her family three times each day, and whose scrapbook albums creatively document
every detail of her children’s lives.
That’s also not me.
I recently read the story of an amazing young
woman who gave up the American dream, moved to Uganda and adopted 13 children.1 What a testament to sacrifice and
selflessness!
There is a woman at my church who works
tirelessly to help build orphanages and has adopted several children from Ukraine. And is currently in the process of rescuing
more orphans!2 What a
difference she is making in the lives of these children!
I know of another woman in my community whose
book about her adoption journey was recently published.3 She is a passionate “adoption and orphan care
advocate” and gifted speaker. She is so
brave and unreserved!
None of those women - not my organized
homeschool friend, not my Suzy Homemaker friend, not these mothers who rescue
orphans and speak on their behalf - none of them are even remotely like
me. Am I a failure?
I am frequently plagued with guilt for not
doing more for the millions of orphans in the world, for not being a more
patient and attentive mother to the children God has given me, for feeling
stressed in my cluttered home full of unfinished projects. Nevertheless, my peace and assurance comes
from knowing that I am doing what God has called me to do.
We, collectively, are the body of Christ, and
we each have a unique, specially-designed role to play.4 He hasn’t called me to move to Uganda . . . that’s
a task for His “feet,” for someone who is young and courageous. Nor does He want me to rescue orphans from
Ukraine . . . a job for His “heart”, for someone who is passionate and filled
with perseverance. Or to write books and
speak at conferences . . . an assignment perfect for His enthusiastic,
articulate “voice.” And I’m pretty sure
that He hasn’t called me to be a home decorator or creative scrapbooker, although
I often wish He had! That’s for the
“eyes” among us, the ones who are able to visualize beautiful things.
What does He ask of me? To be His “hands.” To faithfully serve and lovingly care for each
child He has brought into my life. One
by one by one.
I am His hands when I patiently sit with the
little one who has failed to thrive, trying anything I can think of to entice
him to take just one more bite of food. When
I spend time every day helping him strengthen his under-developed muscles. When I rock him to sleep each night to the
tune of “Amazing Grace” and “Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus.”
God has called me to use my hands to hold my
4-year old on my lap, wiping his tears and consoling him when he gets his blood
drawn – every single week. For the rest
of his life. To help him fit a puzzle
piece in place or catch him when he jumps wildly into the pool. To show him how to fold his hands and thank God for his peanut butter sandwich.
He wants me to use my hands to hold a reader
book each day, listening to my older child battle that darn learning
disability, summoning every ounce of self-control to not roll my eyes or sigh, even when it’s the 15th time
that the same word has appeared in this chapter and we’re still sounding it
out. To gently touch the leg beside mine
in a show of compassion when the tears of frustration are falling. To seek out those extra-curricular classes, purposefully
encouraging and nurturing the non-academic abilities, like art, photography,
and music, trusting with every endeavor that God has a wonderful plan to use
those gifts.
And I sometimes question, “Lord, are You sure You chose the right person for the
job?” But in my heart I know that He
called me to reach my hands out towards my wayward teenager, chains and hoodie
and all, with unconditional love and acceptance. To fix meals and snacks for his insatiable
appetite; to welcome his friends for sleepovers with freshly laundered sheets
and towels; and to rub his back on those rare occasions when he allows me to, listening
with enthusiasm as he talks about his plans for the future.
I want to use my hands to be obedient in my daily
responsibilities, to be faithful even in the mundane. To use the gifts and abilities that God has
given me. If I compare myself to others,
to their lives and accomplishments - wishing I could be the feet, the heart, the
voice, the eyes - I will always come up short.
I will perpetually feel guilt, insecurity, and discouragement. Instead of focusing on what God has called
someone else to do, I need to
remember what He has called me to
do! I need to remind myself that I am
“God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared
in advance” for me to do.5
May the Lord use me and my hands to serve Him
today and to show others around me His love.
May He give me His strength and wisdom as I walk in obedience. And may I always remember: I’m a child of God, forgiven, blessed, and
called according to His purpose. Called according to His grace.6 I am not a failure.
4. I Corinthians 12
5. Ephesians 2:10
6. 2 Timothy 1:9
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