Career Minded

My children gave me one of those books, a "Grandma's Memories" book. It has pages that I fill out, answering questions about my past and my life. I already have reams of journals, stemming all the way back to childhood, but it could be that this condensed version will actually get read one day. What I wouldn't give to be able to read my two Grandmothers' memoirs! Grandma Betty and Mawmaw, as different as night and day, and still so precious to me. I keep chipping away at the questions, and it's taking me awhile to fill this thing up. Today's questions involved my career life. It peppered me with all angles of the whole idea of "career," assuming that I had one. I haven't had one, I've had a dozen, with four or five of them being quite successful. Don't chain me to an office (except my own) or you will find me roaming the tundra, running, desperate and growling, with chain detached. It's not much fun that so much of my life now still involves a desk. At least it's my own and has beautiful woodwork and a 12-foot ceiling involved. 

The answers that I have been giving this Grandma project kept coming around to basically the same one: that my best and highest career was the years I gave my life to raising and home educating our children. There were those infant days, where survival seemed elusive and the most menial of tasks seemed endless. Everything revolved around feeding people and cleaning up diapers, grungy faces and bodies. Some people would not give it much credit. But those are the days that were slower and more intentional. I wasn't just going through the motions (most of the time); it was ripe with opportunities along the way. There were little feet and cheeks to be kissed, stories to be told, precious naptimes with lullabies and snuggles. Old ladies told me to cherish those times, so I did just that. I treasured the halting steps, the attempts at language and skill, the chubby hands that reached for me. The days were slow but the years were fast. Babies don't keep, and you only have a small window and then it's gone. The time flew by; it seems almost like a dream now. Our four children buddied up. Because they were homeschooled, they became each others' best friends. They were the Norton gang, notorious for being hard workers and full of sarcasm and fun, fantastic at being all-there when it came time to play.  I always felt I was the worst of teachers, but God had mercy. He gave them Ken for a Daddy, so they learned consistency and discipline. They probably learned how to pick daisies from me. They're all grown, with their own families now and working hard on every front. They make us proud every day. 

They grew up. I've always had all sorts of side hustles -- art, music, painting, decorating, even when we were homeschooling. I've made mayhem and money; I've been inducted into the sometimes silly (sorry if that offends someone) top-producer clubs of real estate numerous times (I don't even count them). Maybe it doesn't matter so much to me, because it's not nearly as important as that first career that I had, the one that really never ends until I leave the planet. The one that, by far, outstrips the importance of anything else I could ever do. My kids are launched...I can technically do whatever I'd like to do now; there's been time to explore new horizons.  I'm grateful for the good example of my own Mother, who valued her job as homemaker the most important one on earth and encouraged me when I went the same way. All those sweet years, I never felt like I was missing out. I thought I'd won the lottery, and indeed I had. 

Money, houses, fame, accolades, a fantastic career...they will all be forgotten in a generation or two. It's the people and the traces of our heart on them that we leave behind, whether they are blood relatives or not, that are eternal. Everlasting treasures, immortal souls. All that glitters is not gold.