Status Symbols

I have to admit it. I have a lit­tle prob­lem with sta­tus sym­bols. Well, with one in par­tic­u­lar. Okay, I prob­a­bly have more, but today I’m strug­gling with one.

We are in the process of sell­ing our van. I love my van.  It is a beau­ti­ful 15 pas­sen­ger van. Sand Beige, not white, which was a big deal to me when we were on the mar­ket for our van. Run­ning boards, DVD installed for those long trips. Nice. I love it. Did I say that? But let’s face it, it’s a 15 pas­sen­ger van. Not exactly on the hot list of most stolen vehi­cles. Not on any cover of any mag­a­zine because of how sleek it is. It’s a util­ity vehi­cle, minus the “sport.” My dear hus­band, early in our mar­riage, was aghast at the idea of ever dri­ving a minivan. What self-respecting fighter pilot dri­ves one of those? Haha. I laugh now. Let’s just say that per­spec­tives and pri­or­i­ties changed, praise be to God!

My sta­tus symbol

Well, my hus­band recently decided it was time to down­size. Our fam­ily is shrink­ing these days. It’s nor­mally just me and maybe the three youngest tag­ging along. So, we had four of us in a vehi­cle that seats 15. A tad bit of an overkill. He’s right. All of my objec­tions were met with the real­ity that I was grasp­ing at straws.

He bought me a new (to us) Volvo SUV. It has things on it that I didn’t know cars had. It’s a nice ride. It’s fun to drive. AWD for the snow. Perfect.

But today, when I was out, I saw a happy fam­ily dri­ving by in their large 15 pas­sen­ger van. And I felt a pang. “Hey! I used to drive one of those!” My heart ached for all that it rep­re­sented to me: a large, thriv­ing family.

And I real­ized that I liked being rec­og­nized as a mother of many chil­dren. I LIKE that iden­tity. It’s who I am. And I like that sta­tus. Now, that eas­ily iden­ti­fi­able sta­tus sym­bol is gone. And I’m that mom with just a cou­ple of kids. I never real­ized how much I liked being “in the club.” I would never have admit­ted it before. But, it’s slap­ping me in the face, and I can’t ignore it.

The thing is, my iden­tity is in Christ! Not in how many of His chil­dren I get to cart around every­day in my big ol’ van. I’m shocked to learn this about myself. Truly, I am.

And I’m thank­ful to learn it. Or at least to have it right there star­ing at me with those beady eyes. I’m sure deep down I always knew it. So smug. Ugh. Don’t I know that *I* had very lit­tle to do with receiv­ing the gift of my chil­dren? I know I know it. In my head. But my heart wants to pat myself on the back for such a won­der­ful accom­plish­ment: I pushed 6 kids out all on my own. Right. That’s not that great of a feat. I mean, in the moment, it’s a pretty huge deal, but in the big pic­ture, not so much. The big­ger deal is that the Lord hand­crafted each one in His image, and gifted them to our fam­ily for a sea­son. And He made our hearts will­ing and able to do so. So why am I strug­gling now with the whole los­ing my iden­tity thing?

I have heard that peo­ple start going through mid-life crises, want­ing fast lit­tle sports cars, new wardrobes, and all those “young” things. I just want the same old stuff. My chil­dren all home, hop­ing for more to come. But, the real­ity is that they are grow­ing up as I age. It’s what we have worked towards their whole lives. It’s good and right and nor­mal. And a huge bless­ing. And yet, here I sit with my much smaller car wait­ing to drive me places, while I look long­ingly as the maxi-sized vans drive by with all their young chil­dren in tow, remem­ber­ing that com­mon phrase about the days being long and the years fleeting.

Per­haps it will be a reminder to me to embrace the gifts of today, not wish­ing them away in favor of some future dream. I hope so.

The other day, Faith came to me before bed. She asked me if, when she grows up and gets mar­ried,  she could come over every Fri­day and help me clean my house. The vision! How pre­cious. She is already mak­ing plans in her sched­ule to bless me and visit me. “Because you’ll be old then,” she tacked on before she danced out of the room. Um. She could have left that part out. But she’s right. That clock just keeps tick­ing away.