"Live in harmony with one another; be sympathetic, love as
brothers, be compassionate and humble. Do not repay evil with evil or insult
with insult, but with blessing, because to this you were called so that you
may inherit a blessing."
It all started when Diana, the nursery guru for the toddler class at my church, asked me if I had any kids. I was a substitute for the nursery, a position I volunteered for so I could snuggle with all the cute little people I'd spied in the church lobby over the past couple years.
It was Diana's attention to detail that made her question about my parenthood status such a surprise. She seemed to have all eight babies in the room on her mental radar screen at once. She dashed to save Jennifer, who'd crawled dangerously close to the rocking chair legs, and Steven who'd wedged himself behind a bouncy chair in his quest for a wayward ball — before I'd even noticed these little cuties had escaped from the pack.
With such a finely tuned radar, couldn't she sense my amateur status around the kiddies? And couldn't she see I wasn't wearing a wedding ring? This was her first attempt at any sort of personal conversation, so I politely responded, "Nope. I'm single. I mean, I know you can be single and have kids, but I don't have any." There I was explaining away my singleness — and oh-so-awkwardly. A wailing baby saved her from having to find some sort of appropriate response.
A few seconds later Diana launched into conversation with Susan, the other nursery worker, about their own babies, their husbands, and, as seemingly all women who've been through childbirth eventually discuss, their uteruses. I listened and asked questions about their respective families, wondering if I would ever graduate from passive listener to active participant in these all-important, ever-recurring Grown-up Women Conversations. As usual, I wished the conversation would shift to summer plans or faith or work or anything else to which I could contribute.
About ten minutes later, Diana tried again. "So are you a college student?" she asked. It felt like she was trying to figure out why I wasn't a wife and mom. For some reason I felt the need to justify my existence with a quick run-down of my resume. I'd been a fairly competent member of the corporate jungle for a good decade now. But I tempered my defensiveness and simply responded, "No, I'm a working person."
"Well," Diana responded, "Susan and I are both stay-at-home moms, and it's the best job in the whole world." They exchanged knowing smiles and started a new Grown-up Women Conversation about potty- training and homeschooling. Suddenly it felt like they were the insiders and I was the outsider, so out of place in the sea of primary-colored toys and squirming babies. I could tell they didn't even realize they'd just highly praised a position to which I couldn't even "apply" given my current marital status and that absolutely everything they'd discussed was mom- and wife- oriented, leaving single childless me in the dust.
As I sat there, rattle in hand, feeling devalued and wanting to defend my singleness, I glanced over at little Christopher. He was the only walker in our bunch and definitely the most independent. He spent the morning happily exploring all the toys in the well-stocked room. At the moment he was examining a plastic phone while slowly walking backwards. He was so captivated by the toy he failed to notice little Jonathan behind him. Before I could move, there was tripping and a sprawling pile of little boys. In one of those beauty-of- toddlerhood moments — where spills that look like near-death experiences are shrugged off and quickly forgotten — the two boys simply exchanged smiles and each went back to his own toy of choice.
There was a moment of stillness after that in which I sensed God faintly whispering, Did you catch that? God seemed to be showing me that sometimes in our individual pursuits of happiness and fulfillment, we clumsy humans trip over each other. Like Diana and her quest to be a God-honoring mom-with-a-capital-M, and me and my quest to be a respected single professional. We'd just tripped over each other, so to speak, and I had the choice to shake it off, as Christopher and Jonathan had, or to pitch a fit like a two-year-old terror. Diana didn't mean to be hurtful and exclusive. And I didn't need to be so defensive. I decided to follow the boys' example — and God's advice — and let it go.
I looked over at Diana, who was now playing peek-a-boo with a fussy little girl. Susan was nearby changing yet another diaper. As my bitterness melted, I realized afresh it's not us and them, married and non-marrieds, parents and non-parents. It's simply a collective us — children of God.
In a burst of warm fuzzy feelings, I scooped up Christopher in a big bear hug. "Thanks," I whispered in his ear. Then I looked up and whispered another thanks to the Father of us all.
Blessings!
Camerin Courtney
