I've been reading stories of amazing women. And it's... wow.
I was introduced to the stories of modern Mormon women by a neighbor of mine, a wonderful woman in her own right. I went to the Mormon Women Project and started reading random stories - whatever caught my interest. I smiled and identified and laughed and wept as I learned about these women of faith.
The spotlighted women are all different ages, come from different backgrounds, and have different difficulties, but they share a light and a hope. Their situations are heart-wrenching, moving, and beautiful. I look at the faces of these women, and am awed by their loveliness and the miraculous peace in their eyes. I read the stories and am uplifted - lifted out of my mundane happenings, and lifted a bit closer to Heaven.
I want to have these women as my friends. I would love to talk with them, to sit down and have lunch with them, to be able to call them on the phone and just chat. But I wouldn't dare. Because I'm not that kind of woman. I'm just little old me.
There isn't anything special about me. Sure, my story is a bit different than yours. Who has the same story as anyone else? I'm not especially talented or beautiful or full of faith or... amazing.
I would bet that most of my lady neighbors would feel similarly mundane. But really, how many of us are amazing women? I would venture to give out an extremely large number. How many of us would admit to feeling stupendous or stunning? The number shrinks to almost nothing.
So why don't we think we are something else? Really! My little ones think my lap is the absolute best place in the world. There isn't any remedy as miraculous for healing as my kiss. My husband thinks I'm great. My teens want to stay up late and talk to me. To me! My college boy calls after an inspirational meeting because he needs to share his feelings with someone. And he calls me.
I'm the pillar holding up this home. That's just what Moms do. But isn't that pretty spectacular?
I guess the most magnificent thing is this: I get to be the mom. And I love it. It's a hard job, and some days I do better than others. Some days, I stink. But my story is unique and impressive. I'm beautiful, because that's the way God made me. And if I had someone to take a lovely portrait of me, and write my daily prose into poetry, I might just be amazing, too.