Growing up, I had several friends whose mothers were friends with my mom as well. One afternoon, my mom and I decided to visit one of these family  friends for a quiet Saturday afternoon. While my friend and I were chatting, I witnessed my mother talking in immense detail about a fern—a type of flowerless plant—to my friend’s mother.

My mom wanted to know where the fern was purchased, how much water the fern required, and which window the fern needed to be placed in order to get the maximum amount of light.

They talked for over half an hour. My friend’s mother was just as equally engaged with excitement.

My friend and I looked at our mothers in astonishment. We then  promised one another that we would never become like our mothers—talking at length about a plant. We were destined to do more important things in our life. 

I’m now a full-time homemaker and mother to three little ones.  Seeing a  leaf sprout on my fiddle leaf tree leaves me in sheer awe and wonder. 

Growing up, I wanted to do important things. Things that would cause grave consequences if mishandled. I wanted to be in a position of authority governing serious matters. Life and death situations. For instance, I pictured  myself  in the operating room saving someone’s life. At someone’s deathbed sharing the Gospel.  At someone’s doorstep providing a life-saving meal. 

Years ago, during one of my college breaks,  I sat outside the doorstep of my parent’s home and allowed my mind to roam as I envisioned my future. Day after day I looked into the clouds and asked the Lord to use my hands, my feet, and all of my being for something great. 

Something great. 

Yes, I wanted to do important things.

 I still do.

And I am. 

When my husband comes home from work, he tries to match my excitement surrounding what I consider “major” events of the day that leave me beaming from ear to ear. Whether it's a new leaf that sprouted on one of our plants, or the fact that I got to finally clean our sofas with our  new upholstery cleaner,  or the fact that I managed to not have a meltdown after cleaning, cooking, homeschooling, and getting everyone dressed…these are often my highlights from the day.

He truly tries to match my level of excitement. I often smile at his earnest attempts.

Who have I become? 

Humor me while I share a quick story. 

I recently bought a new pair of sheets from a store called Tuesday Morning. Unfortunately, the sheets didn’t meet my expectations in terms of texture.  Therefore, the first opportunity I had to sneak away from the kiddos, I drove to Tuesday Morning to complete the quick return. 

The moment I stepped through Tuesday Morning’s double doors, two older workers greeted me without hesitation. I saw no one else in the store and became hopeful that my trip would indeed be quick and efficient. I followed one of the workers as she motioned me to her cashier’s window. After explaining to the worker that I was doing a return, she asked me the expected question,  “What’s the reason for your return?”

“The sheets were stiffer than I'd liked,” I responded in short, trying not to look at the clock for the time.  

“Oh goodness, they are! Come here and feel these,” she said while motioning to her coworker to come feel the sheets. 

Her level of interest in my complaint intrigued me and took me slightly aback. 

“Oh goodness. They are stiff,” the other worker stated in disbelief. 

I hesitated, in shock by their commentary.

I opened up a bit more. 

“Yeah. I had never heard of this brand but wanted to give them a try. I even asked one of your coworkers last time I was here for advice on this  brand. But I’m going to stick with Peddleton from now on.” 

“Yes, Peddleton has some really good sheets,” she said with emphasis. 

Someone who understood my world. 

“And Patty, come here and look at the color of the pillow case. It’s different colors than the actual sheets. I mean it just looks like a rank pink. Do you see that?” 

Patty shook her head. The different colors in the sheets disturbed her too. 

“Oh wow. No, I didn't notice that. You’re right it is,” I chimed in with a bit of awe—less at the sheets and entirely at their concern. 

The unexpected camaraderie between these women and I, while we discussed sheets, made me giddy. 

Two ladies who took just as much care as I did to feel the texture, to analyze the color, to envision the feel… of sheets. 

Two ladies who didn’t view my purchasing decision as insignificant. 

Two ladies who understood the importance of having quality sheets.  

Did these ladies know that this short conversational exchange would be the highlight of my day that I’d share with my husband later? 

They didn’t.

She continued.

“You can’t go wrong with Peddleton.”

I couldn't go wrong with Peddleton. 

I grabbed my sheets  and drove home.

For the next several weeks, I kept thinking about Patty and her coworker. Thoughts plagued me until I wrote down what I learned that day.

Here it is.

 You don't know the feel of quality sheets until you’ve slept on 100% polyester. 

You don’t know the taste of a home-cooked meal until you’ve been forced to have takeout for weeks. 

You don't know what it feels like to come home to the feeling of home until you’ve moved into your first home and attempt to recreate that feeling for years. 

You don’t know the importance of creating memories until you lose your grasp on time as you get older and time somehow moves at triple speed. 

I never knew how nor why my mother would spend Saturday afternoons  in stores looking for display plants. Or why she wanted to spend several days decorating our home for Christmas. Or why she wanted us to all dress up to take family photos….

Or why she could talk at length about a plant. 

I am destined for greatness. 

I do important things. 

I became my mother in this way. 

And I’m so happy I did. 

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