“I knew from the time I was 11 years old that I never wanted children,” said the woman working her shift in the airport shop I was perusing, “they completely suck you dry.”
Shocked by her blatant proclamation, I grasped for words. How would I encapsulate how important children are in a casual conversation while majorly jetlagged?
“My children don’t suck me dry, but they are a lot of work. The hardest work. The best kind of work,” I quipped.
After mulling over her words, I realized she was right. Children do suck you dry. But not in the way she meant.
Having the ever-humbling gift of being a mom is continually sucking me dry. But only the least desirable parts are being sucked out for my good, and God’s glory.
The pools of pride are sucked dry when I choose to laugh at myself and my mama failings, rather than shame myself or snap at my kids for noticing my faults.
The riverbeds of fear are sucked dry as a bone when I release my grip on my kids — loving them with open hands rather than holding onto them with white knuckles.
Impatience swirls down the drain when I allow God’s peace to suck my impatient tendencies dry.
Suck me dry.
Yes, please suck me dry.
And, airport lady? I hope you get the privilege of being sucked dry too.
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