The other morning I sat on the couch trying to squeeze in, yet savor, my morning mug of coffee before my daily priorities called me from the cup. As a mother of three children under five years of age I had a lot on my plate, and it was almost always on my mind how important taking good care of my kids was to the kingdom. It was a ministry calling, of sorts, but it wasn’t the most important one.
I remember when I was in my early 20s and returned from the mission field, I felt led to go into the profession of nursing rather than pursue the life of a foreign-field missionary like many of my friends had done. Like Paul, I knew I could be a tentmaker of sorts, and I knew the Lord could use me in that career to touch the lives of so many. In fact, to this day, every time I go to work I pray to hear God’s voice, to be His light and to minister to those I come in contact with, even if it’s simply by giving a bed bath. But nursing isn’t my top ministry calling.
In my spare time I sell skincare with Rodan + Fields. I have a large, growing team of people that I work to mentor and inspire. I even consider this aspect of my life a place where I might share the love of Christ, but it’s not my top ministry.
I often write blogs that I hope will inspire others. I feel led to share my feelings, and to put down in my posts how God is working in me. I’ve even had a lot of people around the world tell me that my words helped them, but this is not my main ministry either.
In fact, I wear many hats, but there is one that I consider most important. The other morning as I sat gulping my coffee, I watched my weary husband head out the door. That man was a hard worker, no doubt. He not only worked long hours running his own business, but he also put in a huge effort toward helping me with the children when he was home. So as he left for work I had kissed him goodbye. I had given him an extra long hug while whispering “have a good day,” but my heart still ached for him as he went out the door. I desired to take some of his burden, even as I knew I could not.