Speak Eagle

Rock Star Days

Some rock stars are made, not born.

The Peruvian woman grabbed my hand and motioned for me to follow.  And I did, right up to the front row of the auditorium where a special seat was reserved just for me.  I felt like a rock star.

Bags were carried for me, meals were made for me, and I never had to do the dishes.  I had hours to myself in the afternoon, peaceful and quiet, to prepare my heart for the evening schedule of teaching at the women’s conference.

I was affirmed with tears, hugs, prayers, gifts, blessings, wishes, kindnesses, and kisses.  Everywhere I turned, someone else wanted a photo with me, or handed me a slip of paper with an email address.  I felt like a rock star.

And then I came home.

Piles of mail and school papers still sat on the desk, the wad of gum was still stuck to the living room carpet.  There were meals to make, laundry to do, and countless activities for which I was the designated driver.  And that was just the first day.

I no longer felt like a rock star.

The worst of it was that my 6-year old had strep.  Clingy and miserable, his immune system shot, he had broken out in canker sores in his mouth and down his throat, making eating or drinking extremely painful.  I tended to him round the clock, trying to give him fluid and meds, comforted his cries as best I could.   My nerves were soon ragged, my words threatened to bite the head off anyone who came within a quarter mile.

I had thought I was desperate for God to help me accomplish big things for Him in Peru.  But compared to my real life, my time in Peru was a day at the spa!   In my real life, I need Jesus desperately, maybe even more desperately, to help me to parent my children with kindness day in, day out- ironically, the topic I taught at the women’s conference.

May we live desperate for Him, lean into Him, not just when we’re doing the “big things” that make us feel like rock stars, but especially when we’re doing the little things, like squirting cherry Tylenol into a little mouth that spits it all back out on us.

Because most days aren’t rock star days, are they?

Well, unless you’re my 4-year old, who confirms that some rock stars really are born, not made.  And to him, every day is a rock star day.  Justin Guitar

4 thoughts on “Rock Star Days”

  1. Beautifully expressed.

    Though you won’t find this if you look to our economic system, the value of a mother wiping cherry Tylenol off little cheeks is immensely greater than the amped-up gyrations of even the Boss.

    Keep up the faithful work.

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.