The central theme of the story is how one person can change the world. There are several stories about different little boys, but each story intertwines into the singular outcome of feeding billions of people. The story was so rich and meaningful that I found myself tearing up as I read the last few pages.

I highly recommend this book for parents seeking to teach a broader worldview and hearten the unique skills and abilities in their children.

Look at my book I wrote! See my byline?! I am actually smart—it says so right there!

It’s an indulgent fantasy since most of my life is better than I imagined—Greg and my boys for example. There aren’t daydreams enough to equal the love I feel for them. And yet.

There are times that I’ve called Toby a big fat crybaby, or I’m annoyed at Greg for loving our cat more than I do, or I’m just feeling especially carnal for no immediate reason, and all I can do is compare myself to the nearest friend who seems to be doing things better. The friend is always sweeter, more genuine, more humble, more spiritual, more motherly, more likeable, more loved. When I resent her, I feel even worse about myself for being the villainous wretch in the fairy tale whom everyone despises.

If I were an alcoholic I would slosh down glass after glass of red wine to drown out my jealousy and disappointment. Since I’m not, I eat spoonfuls of Nutella right out of the jar and post something pithy on twitter to steal a few handfuls of admiration.

In Bird by Bird, Anne Lamott describes the literary life: “As a writer, one will have over the years many experiences that stimulate and nourish the spirit. These will be quiet and deep inside, however, unaccompanied by thunder and tremulous angels.” That statement could be written a thousand different ways. “As a mother…”  “As a runner…” “As a human…”  

Why aren’t the quietly nourishing experiences enough? Certain corners of my soul are satisfied without pomp. Like when I run, I set one foot in front of the other, one mile at a time, day after day. I don’t care that I will never be Paula Radcliffe, because I’m running to hear my own heart beat, and the effort is its own reward. Other parts of me are more vulnerable, less sure of their own intrinsic worth. They need to be stoked and coddled and assured. If I’m being honest, that really bothers me.

On my desk is a picture of four Indian children from a balwadi in Mumbai. When I feel especially introspective, I look them in the eye and ask them, “What do you need from me?” My pulse stops when they speak because I know it is God. Love us, they say. And that’s all.

They don’t need my importance. They don’t need my self-esteem. They don’t need my trophies. Neither do my friends, my husband, or my own children. The more perfect I am, the less I am useful to them. My fragile self takes their place in my heart.

Someone sent me a beautiful prayer yesterday, written by Father Larry Hein, mentor to Brennen Manning:

May all your expectations be frustrated, may all your plans be thwarted, may all your desires be withered into nothingness, if it proves necessary for you to experience the powerlessness and poverty of a child and sing and dance in the love of God who is Father, Son and Spirit.

That is my hope—yield to the things that rub the shine off my penny, because those are the very things making me great. I’m not seven anymore, so I don’t have to think like I did then. I can put my head down, one patch of road at a time, and run past my insecurity to the place where nothing remains. No trophies. No thunder. No tremulous angels.

And then there’s room enough for love.

This article originally published in the Feb.-Mar. 2010 issue of Deeper. For more articles on faith and family or to subscribe via e-mail to the Mom’s Moments and Deeper Newsletters, go here.

My son, Toby, turned five on January 12^th. Our family laughed over pizza at his favorite restaurant just as the whole of Port Au Prince crumbled to the ground. We didn’t learn the news until the next day when the pictures spilled from our T.V. along with a painful realization. During the chaos and death, we were celebrating life. The irony felt like a stone in my heart.

I wanted to shield Toby from Haiti’s devastation– tuck him in bed, kiss his unharmed head to sleep unburdened. But instead of peace, the thought gave me shame. I remembered Everson, a five-year-old-boy, pictured lying on a piece of cardboard in the Haitian dirt. If Everson could survive the horror in Port Au Prince, my son was strong enough to know about it. He could fight for Everson. He could fight for Haiti.

I copied a few pictures of the rubble and the one of Everson, and sat down with Toby to explain earthquakes and tragedy. It was short and simple- nothing to paralyze him in fear. He listened, awed by the extreme destruction. I prayed aloud, thanking God for the safety and comfort we enjoyed and asking Him to help the people in Haiti who had neither. Toby listened, and then ran off to play. That was that.

Before bed, we performed our usual nighttime ritual, each family member praying in turn. When we got to Toby, he thanked God for his favorite things: trash trucks and his family. Then he added “God, You know that ‘earthcrank’ in Haiti? I’m gonna need you to clean that up.” It was completely un-elegant, utterly simple. The kind of prayer that penetrates the heart of God.

A few days later, we bought aspirin and cold medicine and added it to the large collection boxes in our church lobby, bound for the under-supplied Haitian hospitals. Toby and his younger brother, Charlie, dropped our gifts into the bins with pride. Later in the car, I saw Toby’s face looking thoughtful in the rear view mirror. “What are you thinking buddy?”

“I’m praying for Haiti in my mind,” he said. My heart skipped a beat.

Like every parent, I am familiar with protecting my kids. Nothing feels better than burying their faces in my chest against any sign of doom. Only I don’t want to raise children who bury their faces when trouble comes. I want to raise children who will stand. Children who see disaster, hunger, or pain, and storm the gates of heaven like mighty warriors.

Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” Matthew 19:14 (NIV)

She wrote:

Recently I came to a place where God asked me if He was enough. If all I ever had was Him, would I be happy with my life. As I was humbled and answered Him “yes,” everything else appeared as such a blessing. My husband, my boys, my family, my friends, my house, my neighbours, my writing.

It’s like the story of Abraham and Isaac – I really don’t like that story – but all God wanted to know was where Abraham’s true loyalty was directed. Once God KNEW Abraham was solely devoted to Him and His purposes, He blessed Abraham with descendants as numerous as the grains of sand or the stars in the sky.

He’s put desires and dreams in your heart for a reason – to glorify Him and to bless you. He’ll show you, when His timing is perfect, what you are supposed to do with those dreams and desires. It starts with what’s right in front of you – your family, friends, your world.

Blessings on you today as you go about living God’s will right where you are.

That is my prayer for myself… for God to be enough. Then to “start with what’s right in front of me.” I can do that, one little step at a time.

So, is God enough for you? Who or what is in front of you waiting for you to start moving?

My favorite part of this new blog design is the tag line: “Find a destination, run fast.” The only problem is me not having a destination.

I spend a lot of time writing about my boys. This blog may become the longest book ever written, and if the climax is Toby and Charlie’s passage into adulthood I’m gonna go ahead and delete myself from your Google reader to spare you the ennui. Being a mom is the purest part of me, the easiest cause to wholly pledge myself, but I want to give more to my kids than devotion. I want my boys to see meaning beyond themselves. I will have to show them in my own life.

Recently I met with some girlfriends to talk about our purposes. We are over the cusp of thirty, and bubbling with energy and passion. If we blink once we will be forty, ten years spent on something. What will it be? Micro-managing our kids? Jogging the saddle bags off our thighs? Twitter? We decided to figure out God’s plan before we are blinded by our own busyness.

After our meeting, the mystery of my purpose itched around in my brain, clouded by all my failed ventures. You know how there are people that can touch anything and have success? I’m the opposite. I can throw myself head first into something and ferociously tank it. I’m not an awesome runner despite years of dedicated training. I’m not a good salesperson, marketer, or administrator. I liked my blog so I went all the way and bought my own domain just as my traffic plunged downtown. I’m like Abe Lincoln, but without the final redemption of being President.  

I dreamed out some really fun destinies, but they all required a great turn of fate and conveniently culminated with my own personal success.

Do you remember Andi Hawkins? They are building a theme park in Orlando based on her best-selling fantasy novels. Weren’t the characters so engaging?! I heard she is donating all of the profits to World Vision. Isn’t she a complete inspiration? Or…Can you believe Andi Hawkins was the first woman to ever win a marathon while pushing a baby jogger? She is on the cover of Runner’s World eating whey protein brownies with her two super-happy kids. Isn’t she such an awesome role model for healthy motherhood? I’m following her on Twitter…

Dreaming made me feel bad for how little I have actually achieved. There are so many things I haven’t started–things I haven’t finished. My under-performance slumped over my shoulders like regret.

“God what do you have for me to do?” A thought came to me. I stared at the mirror wondering if I would be satisfied with my life if I were just a wingman. What if I were made to support others– never destined for greatness, for fame, for glory? What if it were just me and my big mouth speaking life into my friends as we walk unceremoniously toward heaven?  Would I look back in ten years unashamed?

I got excited. I thought of all the people around me, and the joy I feel enoucarging them, praying for them. God’s breath filled the space I carved for my own glory and I welled over with peace.

What better purpose could I teach my boys? Toby and Charlie, I want to see you move mountains, but don’t be deceived. There is nothing unsatisfying in the sky God opens for you. It might look plain before you take off, but when His wind lifts your wings you won’t even care if it makes you invisible.