Some say today's women can have it all: thriving kids, successful career, healthy marriage, clean house, a close circle of friends and still manage to get a pedicure every once in a while. I'm only 5 months into this thing called motherhood, but I have to say, I call bullshit.   There are only 24 hours in the day, and even though 8 hours of sleep is a long-lost memory, I don't know how these superwomen do it all.

If you can, (some of my best friends seem to be doing a hell of a good job at it) I give you props and then some. But I am throwing in the towel on being able to "have it all" and with my stomach in knots, am saying goodbye to what once looked like a very promising career. Today is my last day on the job.

For the past 3 months I've only worked part time, which I felt like I could balance well and still maintain my sanity. What I didn't account for was having to pay a sitter more than I would end up making and being stuck in a position that did nothing to satisfy my aspirations but was all that made sense for the "part-time person." I guess I'm young enough and naïve enough to not be ok with mediocre. I only want great.    And I think my full time career could have been that. It could have been great.   But what I have now in Forrest is amazing, and if I can't do both, I wholeheartedly choose him.   It's just, well... I feel like a little part of me is dying today and if I start crying right here at my desk on my last day of my "career," I hope the world understands. I've worked on my profession for over a decade, and I only worked on creating Forrest for 9 months.

I bet some people think I'm an awful woman right now...

There's a song out there with the lyrics, "In the blink of an eye; Seems like minutes as the years fly by... Afraid to stop because you can't stop time."   I know that Forrest will grow up so fast, and when it's all said and done, I don't think I will ever regret leaving a promising full time career behind to be present with him every day. I am trading in business development meetings for play dates, pencil skirts for spit-up soaked t-shirts, and challenging DoD solicitations for Mother Goose and Curious George. I am trading in a comfortable income and some nice discretionary spending for a real tightening of the proverbial belt. But I really feel like I'm doing the right thing. I want to be with him -- to be wholly present and to be... his.     It's just . . . I feel like I'm going through an identity crisis.

Today is my last day on the job.   And tomorrow I may cry a little for what is past, but then I will scoop my beautiful little boy up and cuddle him as if my life depends on it. Because it might.

While marveling the other day at the different turns my life has taken in the last five years, I couldn't help but pour out some of the crazy twists this journey called life has taken me on.

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The timeline was all planned out.

After another semester abroad, finish school at a Christian university. Move to a large city and start my career. Work hard, and move up quickly. Don’t start dating anyone seriously until 26. Make my career a priority. Get married at 28. Keep my career a priority. Have children at 30. Continue moving up the corporate ladder.

I had my sights set, and everything was going according to plan. All I needed was control. With control came success, power, prestige, and that all-important attribute: independence.

And then, as only God can do, everything was turned on its head. Within six months I met, fell in love with, and married a kind of man I didn’t even believe existed. I was 21. My timeline was shot. My control was gone. My new husband was in the military, and I hadn’t even graduated college. The only thing I knew for certain was the future was out of my hands.

Although a “Christian” since the age of six, I had walked the fence for the last five years. I didn’t trust God to understand my needs, my desires, or my passions. I thought I was the only one I could trust to fulfill my heady aspirations. The last years had seen me live in other countries, graduate at the top of my class, be accepted into prestigious colleges, and yes, decide my own love life. I was making it happen—or so it seemed.

It was mostly in my sometimes-serious, sometimes-not-so-serious dating relationships that I felt the control slipping. Like Paul, I knew what not to do, but found myself doing that exact thing. I knew what to do, but found it almost impossible. What was wrong with me? I wasn’t finding satisfaction or fulfillment. I kept messing up and then hating myself for not being stronger. I couldn’t get it right; I was failing. And it seemed the harder I tried, the more shocking my mess-ups got.

I was ashamed and dirty and repugnant. I had failed.

In all of my years as a “Christian,” I had never gotten to this point. I had always maintained the façade of controlled obedience. From the outside looking in, I was the good girl. I played the game well. But I couldn’t ever bring myself to lay it all on the alter. To fully surrender would be to give me up, and that, I had always thought, was just too risky.

I remember vividly the day I submitted . Finally, completely, truly. I remember praying this prayer on my face in utter angst, “Lord, I surrender. I can’t do this. I trust you. I’m scared, but I trust you. I give up control, I give up my timeline, I give up my desire to control my relationships. No matter what it costs me, I will obey you.”

And like being wrapped in a down comforter by a crackling fire, I felt a love I had only heard about but could never accept. I was an utter failure. I wasn’t good. No matter how hard I tried, I didn’t deserve it, but here it was—a love so real I couldn’t even scoff at how much of a cliché it was. I was loved. In all my failures, I was loved. And the realization that this ABBA Father knew me intimately, and had a greater plan for me than my timeline entailed set in with full force. I didn’t know what was going to come next, but for the first time, it didn’t matter. Even the impending certainty that I would be called to indefinite singleness, didn’t make me cringe. I was not in charge anymore. If God’s plan led me to a life of celibacy and singleness, I would accept it without question.

But God’s ideas are not our ideas. I gave up, and God gave me Bo.

In a test of my newfound faith and trust, God called Bo and I to step out in a radical way, and be married sooner rather than later. God had molded and shaped this incredible man in the previous years, and he was ready. If I was serious about my promise to unclench my control-filled hands, God had the most amazing gift ready for me. It wasn’t on my timetable, I didn’t have all my ducks in a row, and perhaps most importantly, I didn’t even know if I was ready. But that was the point. God didn’t want me ready or strong or resilient by my own volition. He wanted to shape me in His way and in His time.

That was over two years ago. My life now requires not only an open hand, but all too often, open fingers. My plans consistently slip through the cracks like innumerable grains of sand, and that is ok. As wife to a man who is part of an elite special operations group, I take each day as it comes—thankful for the days when my husband is home and fully reliant for the many days he is gone and our lives are in the air. I have no control, but I am happy and I am blessed. I understand the love and desire of a very real heavenly Father when he says in Jeremiah, “For I know the plans I have for you; plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

Many would say I live a crazy life. I would have it no other way.