How Did I Get Here?

Have you ever asked yourself that question? I think I might ask it a bit too often. It's not necessarily a negative thoght, either. How did I get here, married to the most amazing man I've ever met? How did I get here, with the most adorable little boy ever born? How did I get here, living in the beautiful, old Victorian house of my dreams? Do you see what I mean? There are lots of good ways to ask the question.

Then, of course, there are the less than encouraging queries. How did I get here, with three different body fluids from the same little boy on my shirt? (Didn't I used to be a well dressed business woman?) How did I get here, where my idea of conversation is, "Where is Noble's nose?" How did I get here, when I might wear make up a whopping once a week (and probably on that same finally do more with my hair than a pony tail - although I have just about perfected the versatile pony tail...it can be high, low, on the side, in the center, half pulled through, curly, straight, or of the pig variety - Really, how did I get here?!).

It is a funny thing to think about, really. I have asked myself this question often over the years of my life and I am just beginning to find that there is contentment in the answer. Oh, my life might once have sounded more exciting in the telling, to be sure. Professional singer, songwriter, actress, model, then business woman living in Nashville, New York, traveling often. That sounds like fun even to me and I lived it. As it begins to sound exciting I have to remind myself that I never quite felt fulfilled, truly content. Yet, when I sit on my back porch and watch my baby boy toddle from me over to the grass and pick a blade for chewing there is a sudden swell of overwhelming unworthiness that fills me. How did I get here? How is it that I am so fortunate that God chose me to live this life?

I don't know how I got here, but I know I can't waste it.