Today Tom turns 29. (Yes, my birthday is soon to follow, and yes, we'll be the same age.) Anyway, I take a moment to think about what nearly three decades of life has meant to me. At this particular moment, while I am free to construct this little post only as long as Rowan is asleep in his crib, I'm struck by the seemingly conflicting, yet somehow harmonious, senses of both freedom and constraint that define my life. It would be easy to talk about these two things if they were orthogonal in some way, for instance, if the sense of constraint were applicable only to everyday superficial things and the freedom seemed to exist on a spiritual or societal level. But that's not the case. See, I'm constrained by (or as the thesaurus suggests as a synonym, "enslaved to") my loving husband and beautiful baby boy. This servitude, however, is farther reaching. It includes close friends, members of my church family, and complete strangers like the lady who checks me out in the grocery store. And contrary though it may seem, such subjection serves to highlight my true freedom -- because as so many humans have done in the past, I could choose to deny the obligations and chase a fleeting vision of false freedom. So this life is enslavement by choice, as Christ suggested that we be the servant of all people. I'm sure aging is not the catalyst for my growing embrace of this constraint; rather, the years are just the means through which change is gradually manifest, like a glacier cutting its way across terrain.
He's still asleep now, but he'll wake up soon. And when he does, when I hear his pure voice ring out, I'll go quickly to him, scoop him up, kiss his cheek, and say "Mommy loves you, Rowan." I'll feed him even if it means being hungry myself, and smile at him even if my heart frowns. I'll do selfless things that fifteen years ago I'd have cringed just thinking of, but they won't feel selfless at all. They'll feel good and right and I'll look forward to the next day when I get to do them all over again. Why?
Enslavement. Freedom. Love. Isn't it wonderful?