Have you ever wondered if you’re doing what you’re supposed to do or if you were meant for more?

Years ago, I sat on my living room floor with a lap full of children and a Dr. Seuss book that I had read a hundred times before.  As I turned the pages, the lamp on the table next to me caught my eye and my mind wandered. It was a Tiffany lamp with a stained glass lamp shade covered in beautiful flowers of many colors.  My mother had given it to me one Christmas after I moved out on my own and I loved it.  Not only did it remind me of her, it seemed quite fancy in the midst of toddlers and toys.

I wiggled out from beneath that cute little pig pile in an attempt to switch the laundry and my son handed me another book.

“One more,” I said with a smile, squeezing back in between sticky fingers and little feet.

I thought back to a discussion my husband and I had a few years earlier.  Our decision for me to stay home with our children would mean that same Tiffany lamp and the bed we bought when we got married would be the only new things we owned for many years.  Shopping would be reserved for groceries and God would meet us at the end of every month with a bag of  generously handed down clothes for the kids.

I was grateful…not only for His provision, but for the time spent with my children.

But on dark days, I sometimes listened to a voice that told me that the work I did inside my home didn’t really matter to the world around me.  I spent everyday with my children, trying not to miss a thing, but I can think of two of them that took their first steps in the time it took me to run to the grocery store.  At the end of the day, though I had crossed things off my to-do list several times, I would fall into my bed with the house looking as if I hadn’t done a thing.

I had put my dream of being a teacher on hold and started up a daycare in my home to help supplement our income.  This meant more mouths to feed and more messes to clean up, but it also meant that we would meet wonderful families, my kids would have countless play dates with great friends, and of course, there would be more hugs for me!

Some days I would feel a little jealous of the moms and dads that dropped their little ones off at my house.  I wondered what it was like ‘out in the world’ and I couldn’t remember the last time I wore a pair of dress pants on a Monday.  These loving parents were no less than amazing. Their children adored them and they juggled everything so well.  I often wondered if I could do the same.

Then one afternoon, I sat doing a puzzle with a three year old little boy that I had been taking care of for about a week and half.  I mentioned that his mom would be coming soon to pick him up and he said to me…

“Why doesn’t their mom ever pick them up?”

He was pointing at two of my own children playing with blocks on the floor.

I laughed at the thought that he didn’t realize that I was their mother and this was their home.  And then it dawned on me…he could not tell the difference between the way that I treated my own children and himself. We all played together, laughed together, painted, and read together. He was loved the same as they were.  He felt safe and cared for, just as they did.

In that moment, I knew I was right where I was supposed to be.  What I was doing DID matter.  It mattered to those children and it mattered to those parents who I’m sure would have traded places with me on many mornings to be able to share snuggles with little ones and wear jeans on a Monday.

And so, this past fall, when I kissed my youngest daughter good-bye and watched her walk into a school building carrying a backpack bigger than herself…I had no regrets.

There had been moments when I had felt like I wanted things that were newer and better.  But on that day, I realized the old stained carpet didn’t matter.  It had been good for my kids to share bedrooms and they didn’t know their clothes weren’t new, nor did they care. The dorm room furniture that I had so desperately wanted to replace had been perfect for baby spit-up and juice spills.

In fact, Darrin would joke about how nice our furniture was because…we just kept it at the store.  To this day, no one has spilled or jumped on it!

It was on that late summer morning, when I watched my last kindergartner walk into school that I could have wondered…

What now?

Who am I without all of these children?

And what am I going to do?

But that’s not what happened.  I just felt peace. I felt happy for the time I had spent with each of my kids and a quick reality check would remind me I needed to come back and pick them up at 3:00.

My time with them was not over, it would just look different now. A chapter in my life had ended and a new one was beginning.  I just didn’t know the title of it.

 

Our lives are a lot like those pieces of stained glass.  Maybe you are at a crossroad, in a time of transition, or even stuck in a rut.  Like my lamp, some pieces are dark and dull while others are bright and beautiful.  But, remember, when the Creator puts all of those pieces together, it’s an amazing and stunning creation for us to enjoy.  Those moments that were hard for you to understand, they shaped you.  Those joys that made your heart burst, they are part of you.

So…go. Let His light shine in you and through you. Share your story so that others might see His beauty through the stained glass pieces that make up your life.