When I was a little girl, I came across an old metal file cabinet in the recesses of our garage. Upon opening it, I found that it was indeed full of files. The rows of folders were labeled chronologically simply, "1974," "1975," "1976," and so on, and the files themselves were filled with the family photographs that corresponded to that particular year. No one could accuse my parents of not being organized.
I'm sentimental, though, and I longed for the heavy book filled with photos donning fun captions, such as "Chantel's First Tooth" or "Look Who Caught A Fish!". I envied my friends' frayed and faded books filled with photos, newspaper clippings, and letters. Instead, I clutched the manila folder from "1974." It would have to do.
On the heels of having my first child, I vowed that things would be different in my family. Like any proud mama, I took tons of pictures. I printed them out and carefully labeled each and every one. Then I discovered an "easy," new scrapbooking method called Creative Memories.
For me, Creative Memories was anything but easy. I went to evening parties where I sat hunched over a table piled high with idea books outlining elaborate layouts and and cut and glued to my heart's content. The only thing was that my heart wasn't actually content. I envied the spectacular books the other moms created. And I lamented my own sorry excuse of a keepsake. I never could cut in a straight line! Yet, at the end of that first year, I did have a book, and if nothing else I can say, "I did it!"
But here's the thing, scrapbooking just isn't my thing. I could have kept up the ruse. I could have faked my way through three more books (since I did have three more children). But I just wasn't any good at it. I didn't love it. God didn't make me crafty that way. Seeing the lovely books that other mothers created for their children, I mistakenly thought that I was supposed to make books like that, too. And after all, as I child, hadn't I always wanted a scrapbook of my very own? Wouldn't my daughter want one, too?
Not necessarily. What she probably wants more is a mother who is fully present, one who is using her God-ordained gifts to enrich the lives of her family and friends. Becoming a mommy didn't make me different. I wasn't saying goodbye to one thing simply so I could embrace something new. I didn't need to come up with new ways to prove myself just because I had a new day job. No. Now I understand that the gifts I've always had have stayed with me. It's just that God gives me new ways to use them. In children, they call this "divergent thinking"--understanding what is and imagining the possibilities of what could be. Problem solving and creativity are the inherent result of divergent thinking.
I loved the "Scrap-Happy Girls;" I just wasn't one of them. So, although I imagined the possibilities of what could be, I was clueless when it came to understanding what actually was. I wish I had learned that lesson before I attempted three more books. I'll probably never be able to cut in a straight line!
Sometimes, I still have trouble embracing who I am. Successful divergent thinking is only possible when the two parts work together. When I find myself frustrated over not being able to complete a project, I often need to ask myself: Is this who God created me to be? If the answer is "no," then it's time to take a second look at my motives. Why am I doing this thing? Who am I trying to impress? Where should I re-direct my attention?
I may not ever be able to piece together a decent scrapbook. And that's OK. Instead of a metal file cabinet, I have a few folders filled with pictures on my computer labeled "1999", "2000", "2001", etc. It's a lovely thing.
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