A friend gifted me with a book called 1000 Gifts by Ann Voskamp over a year ago, telling me at the time that it was a super hard read but worth the effort. Hmmmm, at that point in my life, “hard read” was not attractive in the slightest. I put it in my bedside table to gather dust.
God, however, had other plans and was determined to bring it to my attention again. Our church decided to do a women’s Bible study over it, and I decided to dust off my copy and give it a try.
You know, people say that certain books have changed their lives. Shifted perspectives just enough that everything looks different. I’ve had books that did that for me. C. S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity was one. But no book has ever shifted my perspective in the one way that was so vital to me personally. Me. Ann Voscamp didn’t know it at the time, but God moved her heart to write those words for me. Others, too, I’m sure, but most definitely for me.
Before I land that plane, let me elaborate on that very egocentric remark. My entire life has been wrapped up in what I’ve come to call the “wantsy’s.” I love beautiful things and experiences. I get bored and distracted easily and I’m always dabbling in one thing and then bounding off to the next experience. I have a tendency to power through a complicated project to prove I can do it and then move on to the next totally different thing. In other words, I’m never satisfied. Being content in my circumstances has never even been my particular cup of tea.
And then I got married. I married the most constant, unchanging, steady man in the world. He believes in strong foundations and single-minded commitment to a higher purpose. So he serves God and works to create the most stable and safe environment he can for his family.
Do I sound like I’m complaining? I’m not. . . At least not now. I learned a whole lot about myself in those early years of marriage. I married Jason for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was that he was my anchor. He was the port I always came home to. I could flit off on various adventures, and he was always there waiting with open arms. During the seven years that we dated, I went to Singapore and Malaysia, Germany, Norway, Africa and assorted places in the states. I loved going off on adventures, and I loved that moment when I knew I was heading back home to him.
It was a romantic notion while we dated. But then we got married and we graduated from college and adulting got real. But the damage had been done and I continued to have expectations of adventure and returning to my home port, while his mind turned to more practical matters. Things needed to change.
I suddenly felt like a bee on a string and Jason was the mean kid holding me back. I wanted to go live somewhere I’d never been before (I had an MA in English and a teacher’s certificate. . . I could go anywhere). He needed to go somewhere he could make a good living with his Environmental Engineering degree (ie: the industry-rich area where we both grew up). I wanted a house that I could unleash my creativity on and make into my own. He wanted to rent something cheap and save. I wanted to see the world. He wasn’t interested in going anywhere. I wanted kids. He wanted to wait.
I could go on, but you see my point. We suddenly were very far apart in what we wanted. We were married for two years and he could no longer handle my demands and I could no longer handle my disappointment. We decided to get a divorce. For two months we were separated. The story of how we reconciled is one for another time, but reconcile we did.
And we bought a home and had kids. We agreed I would stay home and not work and be a mom to them. And all I could think was, what about South America and Antarctica, the only two continents I’ve never been to? I’m not doing that. What about my degree. I’m wasting that. I should be writing or editing or doing something meaningful with my life. What about my house? It doesn’t look like that picture on Pinterest. Look at all these people on Facebook and all that they’re doing. Why shouldn’t I be able to work and write and decorate and travel and have perfect kids and a perfect husband and a perfect life?
So, clearly those desires and expectations I had didn’t go away. I just stopped verbalizing them in the same way. Direct demands turned into snarky comments in front of friends and family. For him, it was like death by a thousand cuts.
My unending discontent with our safe, staid life has been the source of so many arguments that I’m embarrassed to confess them. How did I not learn? The issue reared it’s ugly head again recently after returning from a trip to my sister’s (whose home looks like a Southern Living centerfold) and a visit to our old college town. Memories of past adventures and hopes not yet come to fruition stirred discontent into bitterness. And we argued. And then we didn’t talk for a few days. And then the Vesuvius of arguments.
I won’t go into the gory details, because we both said some awful things. But the thing that was the worst was when he said, “I’ll do ANYTHING. I just want you to stop hating your life!” Woah. What? I don’t hate my life. I love my home and my family. I love the spectacular sunsets I can see from my kitchen window and laying in the driveway to watch the planes leaving Houston fly right over my house. I love that everyone at my kids’ school knows me and so I know everything that goes on with my kids for the eight or so hours I’m away from them. I love our pond and the bass that we caught from the nearby rice canal hitting top water in the mornings. I love the 200 acres behind us that isn’t ours but that have the most fat, glossy, happy cows I’ve ever seen. I love that we live close to a dozen family members who are there for us when we need them and a dozen more friends who are like family. I love my life with him. How could he think I hate my life?
Well. Karma is truly a bitch and my snarky comments had finally come back on me. My sweet husband had taken every single one of them to heart. Death by a thousand cuts.
That change that needed to happen when we first got married? After 16 years I could finally see it. Now enter Ann Voskamp and 1000 Gifts.
The friend who gifted me with the book did not kid when she said it was a hard read. The entire book is about finding a heart of gratitude. God is the giver of all things. Sometimes those things are good. Sometimes they’re bad. But all of them are working toward our good. Not material blessing. Not visiting every exciting locale in the world. Not accomplishing great things by the world’s standards. Those things might come, but it’s about becoming more full of him. It’s about realizing that life isn’t an emergency. That there are miracles in every. Single. Moment. She goes on for pages about the beauty of a soap bubble. And she begins to write down all of these little beautiful moments. And in doing so she slows down. Can really see the beauty and goodness of what’s around her. Even in the hard things. And in finding all these sources of beauty and blessing, she finds peace. And in finding peace, she finds joy. And in finding joy she wants to pour that out on others in service. And in doing that she blesses and is blessed all the more. How. Beautiful.
I’m not sure I’ve ever been at peace. Ever. It’s always been a flailing about, full of anxiety, trying to cram full my life with beauty and success and the perfection I thought everyone else had. When really, my life is full of beauty and success and perfection. I only needed to slow down. Live within each moment. Find my own soap bubbles.
I began to see that Pinterest and Facebook are vignettes. Moments that capture perfection but that don’t tell the whole story. They are other people’s soap bubbles. And I am learning to find joy in their moments, but not to compare them to my own. Theirs do not detract from mine. And it’s ok to dream dreams, but not to place the weight of that on those around you. I have started my own list of 1000 gifts, and I’m doing it with my family. And the more soap bubbles I see as I slow down, the more peace I’m finding. God has truly blessed me.
But the greatest thing I’ve discovered is that my time being a stay-at-home mom was never a waste. I’m not discontent with it, and I regret the years that I spent running, running, running, being PTA president and volunteering everywhere and taking distracted stabs at writing and a hundred other things, trying to make being a wife and mom matter. Flailing. Ann Voskamp writes:
Every mess, every tantrum, every soothed wound, every dish and piece of laundry mattered. And was blessing. Every moment I could listen to my husband unload the worries of his day and that I could love him mattered. I blessed them. And they were blessing me. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to see it. I might never be a world traveler or have a magnificent home or be famous at anything. But I’m sure going to bless and be blessed. I’m sure going to enjoy this peace and joy I’ve found, instead of the flailing and striving trying to fill unfillable holes in a distracted frenzy. I’m going to find every soap bubble in my life and rejoice in it. For life is about those moments, and slowing down and looking outside of yourself enough to see them.
Five Dog Bend 