I took my eldest clothes-shopping yesterday. This can actually be fun when you're shopping for someone who looks good in just about everything she puts on.
In the course of our conversation, she happened to mention that she intends to have seven children. Seven. Of course, they will all be adopted (childbirth is too painful, you know), so she has the genders and spacing and names all figured out. Four girls and three boys. The oldest will be a girl with my names for her middle names. How sweet.
Now, I realize that she's only 13 and her plans will change multiple times before they come to fruition (she's already reconsidering some of her name choices). But the thing is, I can see her having seven children. It really doesn't surprise me at all. And I don't have any issues with people having big families. If God has called her to mother seven children, and her husband to father the same, then more power to them.
The problem is . . . I'm not sure I feel called to grandmother seven children -- at least not seven from one daughter. Does anyone who knows me see me babysitting seven kids for a weekend while the parents take some time away? Assuming my other daughter is blessed with a couple of her own, that's quite a brood we're talking here.
Unfortunately, it won't matter if I feel "called" to the task or not. The situation will be plopped in my lap and I will have to deal with it. I know, I know . . I will take some cheese with my whine, thank you very much. People have dealt with much worse lap-ploppings than a flock of beloved grandchildren. When they actually come around, I'm sure I'll consider them each a precious blessing from God. But right now, it makes my head spin.
I need to get over this idea that I should get to choose the challenges I face in life. I gotta stop feeling so mistreated and misused when God allows "weeds" to flourish in my well-planned and well-manicured garden. One person's weed is another person's rose. Exposure to viruses builds up our immune system and makes us stronger. And God knows better than I do where my immune system is weak.
Of course, her husband could put a damper on those plans . . . yeah, that's the ticket. I'll just steer her away from the boys in these big families we know . . .