I was subtly assigned the host role for a very special event, for adoptive and foster moms.
I am honored and anxious about it. If I put aside my self awareness and self induced humility, I bravely pull up my sleeves and do what needs to be done, without overthinking it. My saving Grace is remembering: it is never about me. We are tools in God’s hands. And the truth is, I love these women. Second mothers. Kindred spirits. I am humbled by this role. It has kicked my butt this year. But as I reflect on my limitations, inadequacy, struggles, I realized they are the perfect foundation for empathy. I’m not so quick to give advice, or to find solutions to evident challenges. I can see why one can’t see obvious answers, in the midst of chaos or beaten down paths to enabling behaviors.
My pitfall is high expectations. I am not used to them. When someone has high expectations of me, founded or otherwise, I tend to retreat in a a ball of humility. I put a wall up. I undermine my success to reset expectations. But humility is not thinking less of yourself but thinking of yourself less. Eyes on the Lord. Hear the calling. Walking with a purpose.
Here I am, re-finding slowly my voice, my eloquence. For so long I felt like a Riverbank during drought. All dried up. But I am sensing the rainy season starting, I smell rain of grace in the air, of community building.
It is a joy to lay down your life. Grace abounds. God opens doors. Mountains are moved. And He is using us the way He sees fit. May we be ready. Always.