Where is the Me I want to Be?

I think I’m schizophrenic. (No offense meant to those who truly are.)  You see, there are two Me’s. There’s the Me I am. And there’s the Me I want to be. The Me I am: short tempered, impatient, flustered, clumsy, average intelligence, not very creative… well, you get the picture. Then there’s the Me I want to be. I dream of being graceful, wise, mild mannered, creative.

I want to have dinner on the table when my husband comes home from work. Not just any table, but a beautifully set table. With candles, a tablecloth, flowers, cloth napkins.(These days I can barely pull a meal together.) Dressed in something beautiful and soft (instead of denim capri’s and a comfy shirt I can nurse in modestly.) Maybe with my hair done and makeup on (instead of a headband and hairclip). I want to be able to comfort him after a hard day at work (instead of comparing his bad day to mine). I want the house to be cleaned up whenever he comes home. I want to be organized so everything has a place (instead of moving from one organizing project to another in the hope that somehow I’ll find more space for less stuff).

I want to be patient with my children. Able to soothe the little ones with music and singing (instead if sighs of frustration). Baker of fabulous comfort foods when they don’t feel well. And when they do. Block stacker and castle builder extraordinaire. Game player. Sewer of amazing dress up clothes and regular clothes. Designer of my own patterns (and maybe my own fabric).Creator of wonderful memories of home that will be with them always.

I want my home to be a place of comfort for my family and for others. I want people to want to be here. To enjoy visiting. Stopping by just to see what delectable creation we made. I want to be able to share earthly comforts and spiritual comforts with them. The “wise one” who can say just the right thing at just the right time.

The Me of my dreams confidently faces every day and every hardship with grace, dignity, and faith.

But the Me that I am keeps getting in the way. I stumble through my life, making more mistakes than I care to admit. But then God whispers that He loves me. The real Me. And the Me that I dream of becoming? Well, He is a worker of miracles. Maybe I can slowly become her, one step, one day, at a time.