per*spec*tive

Some things in life fill me with an overwhelming sense of freedom. Like a full tank of gas. Saturday mornings. Or my kids marching around the classroom, knees high, singing You're a Grand Old Flag.

These things make me feel like I can climb high. Run far. Love deep.

And some things seem to snatch that feeling right from me. And then it gets really, really hard to hope. In anything.

I sat in art class with my kids this week. They're starting to learn about perspective. I'm at the green table. Oil pastels all over my fingers. Smudges on my arm from the boy next to me. And I can't get that word out of my heart. Because every artist knows that perspective is what makes a masterpiece. This is what I want: I want my soul to be a masterpiece. Maybe perspective is what freedom is all about.

I went home. And started thinking about my years. Plotting out the next few of life. Risky? Yes. But I'm human. And... I like to be in control. At least I like to think that I am.

I was trying to pinpoint my calling in the form of a career. Something one-on-one. With children. So that I can help them make it. Through life. Love. Him. And then I stopped. And grinned. And then laughed. Deep from my middle. This is what happens when I try to plan. Hysterics.

I never thought I would marry. Never thought about children. Never. And here I am, deciding that my calling. In the form of a career. Sounds a lot like being: a Mother.

Goodness.

And that's when I started to wonder. How many wildcards are in my deck? Because He seems to pull them out from no where. Can't I just get an eight once in a while? Even a three would be nice. Sorry. Go Fish.

So I guess I need to get busy. Certain things have to happen before you become a mother. And in a certain order. I need to make lists. "My Idea of the Perfect Man." "Top Ten Qualities I'm Looking For." Find those whitening strips I bought seven months ago. And according to my brother, I need to work on positive vibes. Positive vibes? Apparently somewhere between my disinterested self and flirting. Hopefully the whitening strips work. Wonders. I might as well buy that wedding planner too, the one with the cute pink and black cover. After all, He always gives us the desires of our heart. Right?

Oh my word. I hope He doesn't. My heart is terrible. Awful. And recently I've decided that it is excessively selfish.

And it's fickle. One minute I'm naming an imaginary baby Audrey Lane and the next I'm planning on leaving the country. Lov-el-y. So what's a girl to do? A girl with little faith in the modern relationship. I'm not up for being glamorous. Or figuring out vibes. And whitening strips hurt my teeth.

Besides. I'm just not that type. I want to be surprised by someone. Caught off guard. I want to reel, spin, fall.

I'm folding a pile of whites that smell like lavender and thinking about this. And pretty soon I'm talking about it. Begging Him. Please God. Keep me walking with You. Don't let me get ahead. Don't let me fall behind. And please. Give me more perspective. From high places. And maybe someday, You could send someone along. Someone who wants the same. But if not, that's ok. A puppy would be nice also. Named Lucy. With a purple collar.

So long, whitening strips. So long.

Because this I know. I know that He is good. And His plans for me? Good. Very good.