Answered Prayer

Today, I rarely wield the sword against the mighty monster of discontent. While I used to wake up with a rigid agenda embedded in my mind, I now begin each new day with a simple prayer, “Lord, you know what I need to do today. Please show me YOUR plan and help me to let go of mine.”

It sounds trite, I suppose, but lowering my expectations has set me free. While my floors aren’t free of stickiness and my windows aren’t free of handprints, my heart is generally free of frustration. In fact, I’ve discovered, quite accidentally, that as I cling to fewer expectations for myself and the people I serve, I gain a heightened sense of expectation for what the Lord might do. When I am no longer trying to prove that I’m a great mother, God steps in and proves that He’s an AMAZING FATHER.

Perhaps that’s why, when my Mother’s Day didn’t resemble a scene from a Hallmark movie, I still ended the day with a grateful heart. Dirty diapers, stubborn toddlers, and dog-licked corndogs don’t diminish the truth: I am living my girlhood dream. From the moment I was given my first baby doll with sleepy eyes and pouty pink lips, I wanted to be a mommy. I was a little girl in love with babies. In fact, I asked for one- a baby brother to be specific- each Christmas until I was old enough to understand that Santa didn’t deliver babies (And young enough to believe that my mom and dad would NEVER want to do THAT to give me one).

Once I surrendered to the realization that my family of four was not destined to grow any bigger, I turned my imagination to the day when I would have babies of my own. I saw them all in my mind’s eye: tow headed toddlers, blue-eyed big brothers, and precious bundles of kissable cheeks. My husband, of course, was ever-present and helpful in my girlhood dreams, and being a mom was the delight of my life. The details of the dream changed over time. My image of motherhood transformed from a mommy in an apron to a professionally-clad super-woman with an infant carrier slung over her arm, while the ever-present husband changed from a tool-and-die worker like my dad to a Hollywood-style heartthrob. The specifics may have changed, but one thing remained the same. Whatever else I ambitioned to do, I wanted motherhood to be a part of the picture.

Then, as I aged, I learned that not all little girls grow up to be mommies.  I visited the humble graveyard marker of an older sister who had relocated to Heaven before she took her first breath. I attended a funeral of a family friend and watched a big strong daddy carrry a delicate little casket in his arms. And I wondered if my dream would ever come true.

I remember hugging my favorite doll as I lay beneath my Holly Hobby comforter in the dark of night and turning the desires of my little girl heart into an earnest prayer, “Jesus, please, can I have a real baby of my own some day?”

As I passed out a handful of kisses, backrubs, and prayers on Mother’s Day night, I realized the poignant truth. I may be buried in dirty dishes, dirty laundry, and dirty diapers, but that very reality is mine to have because my Heavenly Father listened to the desperate pleas of a little girl who dreamed of being a mommy. With only a few hours left on the day that celebrates moms, I climbed beneath my warm covers and snuggled contentedly with my husband.  And as I drifted off to sleep, the prayer of this thirty-seven-year-old child of God, was quite simply: Thank You.  In His glorious generosity, my  Heavenly Father has exceeded my expectations. Not only did He answer my girlhood plea and give me ‘a real baby of my own;’ He said yes to my heart’s desire FIVE times over!