Yesterday the kids asked me if I wanted to be famous. I told them “Never”. Of course, the “why not?” came next and I explained that I like my privacy. Austin then said I could go and work in Hollywood “acting or singing” for a few months and then come live in Alotau where no one would find me because “we only have 1 TV reporter here and he’s only here when it’s time for the Canoe festival.” I did tell them that while I don’t want to be famous, I do want to be remembered after I die as a woman who loved the Lord, loved her husband and loved her kids. I won’t often fill this space with someone else’s words but I came across this 1 Corinthians 13 paraphrase later in the evening and found it very poignant…and challenging.
If I spend my days building skyscrapers with blocks, assembling cool stuff out of LEGOs and creating relationships with other moms at Starbucks, but have not love, I am only the siren of the kids’ ride-on fire truck, annoyingly stuck on hold.
If I have the gift of knowing which child attempted to flush the Hot Wheels down the toilet and which one pushed her sister, and if I have faith that somehow we’ll survive life’s emergencies, but have not love, I am nothing.
If I save all my box tops for school and give outgrown clothing to the local shelter, and if I surrender my body to stretch marks and under-eye circles (without the benefit of BOTOX, tanning salons or diet bars)’ but have not love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient when someone isn’t ready to use the big girl potty. It is kind when my husband has a hard day. It doesn’t envy my neighbor who drives the new sport utility vehicle I can’t afford.
It is not rude, snapping at my spouse or children when things don’t go my way. It is not easily angered at perceived or real injustices.
It always protects the smallest, sweetest family confidences; always trusts God to provide my children’s needs; always hope in the freshness of tomorrow and the bright future of family; always perseveres amid hardship and doubt.
Where there are sleepness nights, they shall end. Where there are diapers, Little League and dioramas built from shoeboxes, they will cease. Where there is knowledge of baby-care trends, discipline strategies and boy-girl problems, it will pass away.
Now these three remain: faith, lived out in my daily circumstances and instilled in my children; hope, of one day rejoicing with my family in heaven; and love, which covers over a multitude of less-than-perfect moments.
But the greatest of these is love. It is what remains…long after I am gone.
If I spend my days building skyscrapers with blocks, assembling cool stuff out of LEGOs and creating relationships with other moms at Starbucks, but have not love, I am only the siren of the kids’ ride-on fire truck, annoyingly stuck on hold.
If I have the gift of knowing which child attempted to flush the Hot Wheels down the toilet and which one pushed her sister, and if I have faith that somehow we’ll survive life’s emergencies, but have not love, I am nothing.
If I save all my box tops for school and give outgrown clothing to the local shelter, and if I surrender my body to stretch marks and under-eye circles (without the benefit of BOTOX, tanning salons or diet bars)’ but have not love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient when someone isn’t ready to use the big girl potty. It is kind when my husband has a hard day. It doesn’t envy my neighbor who drives the new sport utility vehicle I can’t afford.
It is not rude, snapping at my spouse or children when things don’t go my way. It is not easily angered at perceived or real injustices.
It always protects the smallest, sweetest family confidences; always trusts God to provide my children’s needs; always hope in the freshness of tomorrow and the bright future of family; always perseveres amid hardship and doubt.
Where there are sleepness nights, they shall end. Where there are diapers, Little League and dioramas built from shoeboxes, they will cease. Where there is knowledge of baby-care trends, discipline strategies and boy-girl problems, it will pass away.
Now these three remain: faith, lived out in my daily circumstances and instilled in my children; hope, of one day rejoicing with my family in heaven; and love, which covers over a multitude of less-than-perfect moments.
But the greatest of these is love. It is what remains…long after I am gone.
Cindy Sigler Dagnan
2 comments:
Stacie,
What a neat paraphrase. I'm thinking that you wrote this on your birthday. Which we forgot until it was a day late.(one day late for us and I guess two for you) I'm so sorry. We do of course, wish you a very happy and blessed birthday.
Hope all is well with you and every one there.
Love, Shannon L.
Thanks for making me cry...which thanks to pregnancy, is not to hard to do these days. You are such a wonderful mother, wife, sister, daughter and friend. You do know that I look up to you so much?? I have never met a woman with so much grace. If this baby is a girl, I pray that she is just like her Aunt!
love you, and as always, you are MISSED!
Brenda
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