I’ve been so tempted to parrot the other belles with this dream job question. I so identified with Lisa’s powerful post. I was phased out of my all-time favorite job of mothering, too, although I’m further removed from that shocker time-wise. I didn’t realize how time had dulled the memory of those very raw emotions until Lisa brought them back in force! (That’s good news for you on a number of levels, Belle Monday.)
I also concurred with sweet Beth’s thoughts on living this hard wonderful grownup life that once dominated our little girl imaginations. And, may I tell you that Marybeth and Rachel stepped into my head with their musings on the wonder of actually living smack dab in the middle of a dream?! Putting my words in books and knowing that people read them? I’m not over it. I hope I never will be.
In the end, however, I decided I’d make a poor parrot. I paused over the keys, asked myself the question and waited. The answer came so quickly it surprised me that I hadn’t thought of it sooner. My dream job—why it would be singing!
Rare is the day that I don’t sing for an audience of One who happens to appreciate the noise, but for the rest of the world it is precisely that. Noise. This isn’t false humility. I’ve gathered proof over the years. I was holding my niece during a worship service once, singing full out to the Lord, when she lifted her wee head, searched for the source of her irritation and popped me right in the mouth with her favorite toy. True story. And my own children—well, the little sweethearts used to conk out in record time when I began singing. I can’t prove this, but I’ve always suspected they were faking it to avoid being subjected to a second verse.
In my dream job, I’d be a recording artist with the kind of pipes that could render Simon speechless. I’d travel the world singing before the nations and when the world took a breath and I knew they were listening, I’d speak of All Things Jesus.
Shellie