It’s steamy-hot here in New England, the kind of hot I thought I escaped when I left Missouri. The showers they promised us have evaporated, along with multiple other promises of showers, and we’re looking at temperature in the 90s, and humidity at 120 percent — or so it feels.
As I type this, I have my morning coffee at my feet and a fan pointed right at me, roughly four feet from my head. If I leave the fan zone, I’ll need a shower — another shower, I mean.
And yet, I’m sitting here feeling happy. Weird, huh? I’m no fan of steamy-hot weather, but I’m heading for our creaky boat (which we will sell you if you ask nicely) with my handsome and infuriating husband, and then tomorrow, I’m spending time with the grandbabies. And it strikes me that every once in a while, I need to stop and marvel at the light.
This isn’t the life I was promised. The one I was promised was dim, and unrewarding. The one I was groomed for — and I’ve given this more than a little thought — was one of subservience, and shame. The messages I got from on high and down low was that I was less-than (a woman) and my body did shameful things (menstruated, mostly). Still, I had hope in Jesus, and I could find my joy where I could — like a favorite television show, or a hobby — until God called me to Glory, where I would sing praises to Him throughout all eternity (which sounded, honestly, pretty boring).
Having a show and a hobby in one’s life isn’t bad — at all — but having those things as the only things is soul-crushing. No one ever said I could leave that mind-set (though I was preparing to leave it pretty much as soon as I learned it), that I could meet and marvel over people who aren’t like me, that I could broaden my horizons until I couldn’t even see the horizons any more. No one warned me that I would one day sit in a beautiful old house with a fan pointed at me, getting ready for a fun-and-family-filled weekend.
This isn’t the life I was promised, and I am so incredibly grateful for that.