The following article was published in Let’s Talk magazine.

Writing History

Moth-er (muth`-ur) n.

1  History-maker
2  A woman known for her great sacrifice
3  Revolutionary

I’m busy writing history. Not in the annals of the congressional library, not in TIME magazine, not even in the local newspaper, but on the hearts of my children.

I began to feel extremely frustrated with my lot in life. No college degree. (Dad warned me!) No fancy title. Definitely no fancy paycheck. Long, hard hours with very little appreciation on most days.

In the words of comic Steven Wright, "I always wanted to be someone when I grew up. I should have been more specific."

On a recent and rare vacation I was feeling extremely glum as I compared my life to those world-changers I read about in USA Today every morning at our motel. As I pondered the engaging lifestyles and vast privileges of being SOMEONE IN THIS WORLD, I looked around at my no-frills motel room and got real depressed. There sat the cooler and travelling food box staring back at me after having been rifled through by the busy hands of my five sons. Its state of disarray was indicative of the entire room and perhaps, come to think of it, my life. Pillows and dirty clothes strewn about, sleeping bags stuffed in corners, clutter of every kind begging for attention. What a sight. I began to feel trapped, suffocated, by the noise of bickering boys, husband barking orders, channels changing on the television, and by all the choices I’d made along life’s journey.

"Hey everyone! I could have been on 20/20! I could be a lawyer right now – even a judge! Do you hear me? Although I live daily in obscurity, I was born for greatness and I’m dripping with gifts I could have employed for the betterment of this nation! This world! This century! My bank account! I could have been SOMEONE IN THIS WORLD!"

But my silent screams remain my private thoughts. Only God hears them. And He answers.

He gently reminds me of WHO I AM IN THIS WORLD. A builder of strong men for the tomorrows of this nation, this world, this century. Fathers and leaders and friends and entrepreneurs and only God knows the rest. I am writing history through these young men as I carefully, diligently, tirelessly, train and pray them into the kind of men they must be for their generation and the generations to come. The world waits for their greatness, which, to a large extent, can only be born through my sacrifice. I lay down my rights daily for their betterment. Instead of a briefcase, I carry a vision. I keep my vision before me, being careful not to sink into the slums of simply being a housewife. My task is of far greater import. The world may never know my name, but they will feel my impact as I turn these young men loose on our culture in the days ahead.

I’m daily building a home, a refuge, a base of operations for these men-in-training. I mine the imperishable gold in the malleable hearts of these young men.

"Pass the cooler over here!!!" I scream above the chaos. "The Queen needs a diet Pepsi!"

Hey, I’m feeling better all the time.

Copyright 2006 © Denise Mira