Chess Game Of Compare.

They sat there, they compared. They wore everything from Tommy Bahama to Target to Talbots - the labels almost beckoned to be seen. It was the cataclysmic evasion of motherhood.

It was their eyes scanning and roaming the room, looking around and wondering to compare. It was the hushed voices from one mom to the other, casting glances and whispers like a poison, making the rest of us just to sit and wonder.

It was me in the corner, clamoring as I took it in, and crawling on the inside. Watching the art lesson unfold like a junior high hallway experience. Wishing I could just gate Garrett and I in and away from all of it. Sheltering him from their narrowing glances to measure him to the other two-three year olds, and myself from their mommy woes and wishings and seemingly chess game of compare.

I finally needed escape. Claustrophobic and suffocating in the midst of them. Couldn't take my eyes of the scene or peel my reactions away. Or not join them in their comparison pursuits as I was as wide-eyed and gaping as the rest, unaware of playing Garrett because I was caught in their game of chess.

There were fears welled with in, some current, most transposed. Asking and begging God to make me in motherhood more than this. Make me a mother who doesn't join in the games of the these. Who doesn't dawdle or gossip or gather clothes or wealth just to pass the hour. Who chooses to live it purposefully, for me and them and His kingdom. To be more than players in a chess game.