The other day, I took on a huge reorganization project. I had just gotten to the part where everything was torn apart and a crazy wreck, (You know, the part just before everything starts to look a little better) when I realized that the laundry was waist deep, the dishes were strewn across the kitchen counter, there were half a dozen other small things that needed to be addressed, oh and it was time to start dinner.
Looking back, I have no idea why I didn’t take care of those things first. – I guess I don’t need to mention that organization has never really been my thing.
I looked at the clock – 4:30 PM. I had a brief moment of panic.
I decided to make a quick call to my husband to make sure that he hadn’t done anything crazy like leave work early or something.
I tried to make my voice sound calm.
“Hey, honey. Where are you? OH! You’re only an hour away?! You left an hour and a half early? You WON’T be home at 7?! You’ll be home at 5:30!?”
I pretty much failed at the whole remaining calm thing. I hung up quickly, and I panicked. My eyes flashed around the room taking in everything I needed to start and finish in the next hour. It was impossible.
And then, I did what every woman in my position would do.
I rallied. I told myself that I could do it. If there had been eye black that I could have smeared under my eyes like a football player gearing up for the state championships – I would have used it. I got my game face on and told myself that failure was not an option.
Do you know what happened next?
As much as I wanted to, as much as I really tried to get it all done, I just couldn’t make it happen. Dinner didn’t get started. The laundry pile remained enormous. The kids fussed and fought with each other for the next hour. And the house stayed in a general state of chaos.
(I was hoping for a better ending too.)
But it is on days like this that I start looking for my cape.
It must have fallen off somewhere. I must have left it in the washing machine, or my purse, or at the park earlier in the day.
I must have misplaced it in the sand pile, or at the bank, or in the backseat of my van somewhere.
Because, after all, I am Wonder Woman.
At least, that is what it seems like everyone expects of me. Or at least, that is what I expect of me.
Only a super hero would expect that she could do more than physically possible. Only a super hero would say, “Sure! I can handle that! When do you need it?!” Only a super hero can make dinner out of “nothing to eat.” Only a super hero can stretch time to fit in everything she needs to accomplish.
Her house is always clean. Her children are always polite and happy. Her parties are always awesome. Her cakes are always level. Her pictures are always perfect. Her guests are always welcome. Her garden is always blooming. And she never runs out of toilet paper.
But the truth is, I’m not Wonder Woman. I don’t have super human strength. I cannot fly. I cannot wave my hand and have everything fall into place. (Even though that would be awesome.)
I’m just me.
And that doesn’t mean that I’m a failure. It just means that I’m a person with real limits.
So today, I’m going to give myself the gift of grace. I’m going to take off my imaginary cape and give myself permission to be enough. I’m going to put realistic expectations on my time, my abilities and my outcomes.
So while there may be things I don’t get done today, it’s okay. I’m okay. I’m going to cheer for each small success, and not sulk in the shadow of my “failures.” I’m going to remind myself that who I am is more than enough.
Because while it’s true that I’m not Wonder Woman, I am fearfully and wonderfully made. And when I stand on that Truth, I can find joy in living life without a cape.
