By Jill Molloy
A few days ago a man asked, “So are you just a mom, or do you work?”
“Just a mom.” I said with a smile, before I could realize my feelings were hurt.
I thought a lot about the way that question was worded. It temporarily wounded my pride but since I had just met the dude, I politely let him slide.
I’ve always been somewhat of a dreamer. I recently found a note I wrote to myself in 3rd grade, and I planned to be an Olympic gymnast before I entered the 4th grade. I was kind of a reckless gymnast, so perhaps these dreams were a bit ambitious.
Thankfully, as I grew older I managed to set more realistic goals. I look back at my 18-year-old, college-bound self, and see a girl full of life, dying to take on the world with the very important job that I would someday have.
Then I graduated college and started working in the pharmaceutical industry. It paid the bills but it was so unaligned with every dream I’d ever had for myself. Life just happened and I looked up and I was nowhere near where I wanted to be.
For the next four years, I would find myself in a constant battle within my own head.
Growing up a Christian, I heard over and over that God has a plan for our lives. It seemed to me that all the good Christians got a handwritten note straight from God himself that told them exactly where to go and what to do. From that day forward, they marched on living out the calling that God had for them and they were always so certain.
But here I was, just a confused drug dealer who had no idea what God’s plan looked like for me. I wanted desperately for my day-to-day life to hold purpose and meaning, but it seemed that each career path I turned to offered me nothing but an empty paycheck.