But I am not exceptional at any one thing and I ache to pour everything out into something beautiful. As I grow older, I realize that the gifts which I currently have will indeed fade and my mediocrity may be the only thing I can offer to my Lord.
I watch the children grow and know with certainty that they are intended to be my great work, my song, my dance... and my heart breaks when I see how I have stumbled with my great gift. So, so busy looking for a way to love on my terms that I forget to engage in the one thing that will carry my joy to heaven. But they somehow continue to grow.
When my children stumble, I cringe. I see it as my failure and I wonder if I will ever be able to fly to heaven with something beautiful. These children are like little birds that are made to fly... and I am wondering why I never learned myself how to do it. I know I was made to soar. I feel that ache to dance and sing and praise and I can tell that it all comes from the place where the wings should be.
Then I remember. My wings were broken long ago and I am like an infant again now. I am learning to sit and crawl and stand and walk... and I will see my children fly while I am still learning to run. I'm too tired to run. Abba... carry me? And of course, He always does.
When my husband holds my hand, I feel like a child again and I cling to him and absorb some of his confidence. The children run around us and they dance. and sing. and paint. and soar. and I think my heart will break with the joy of it.
Heavenly Father, I give it all to you today. My smallness and brokenness. My little songs and my childish words. My skinned knees and my healing heart. You have given me everything and have made me your beloved. It will be the blink of an eye before I'm home. Please carry me until then. Then I will sit at your feet and sing and you will call it beautiful.