Things I am not an expert on

The other day, a friend of mine asked for some perspective on an issue she was having in her homeschool. I listened, I asked a few questions, then I told her what I would do if it were me.

At the end of the conversation, she thanked me. I first thought that she was just grateful for the ear. I  know that when I’m struggling to find which way to turn, and both God and my husband seem to be silent on the topic, I look to my small circle of trusted friends to listen, to pray for me, and to shed some light in my little wilderness.

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But this friend went on with her gratitude, finally ending with this shocker: “You are so good at this stuff. You’re like a family expert or something.”

My gut reaction? You’ve known me how long, and you still think I know anything, let alone everything?

Hoooo boy.

There are a whole host of things I know a lot about. All of them– and by this, I mean to say every stinking one— relates directly to my own family.

Finding a necklace on etsy that will make Mary Hannah’s heart sing? Expert.

Planning menus my family will enjoy? Expert.

Selecting the perfect, wry t-shirt for Mathaus? Expert.

Balancing the oatmeal/peanut butter/coconut oil/almond milk ratio in Phin’s breakfast? Expert.

Surprising my hubby with the perfect gift (art supplies … always)? Expert.

Notice not a single one of those things is transferable, necessarily, to anyone else’s family. Chances are that Phin’s breakfast would make your kids gag. Or that your husband would give you a silent stare if you presented him with a fresh box of oil pastels.

And that’s how expertise is, really. It’s usually very, very specific– to a person, to a situation, to a set of standards that may or may not apply in any given setting except the one for which it’s designed. Look at it this way: do you want your amazing OB removing the suspicious mole on your back? No. Does that make her any less a fabulous medical provider? No. It just makes her really good at attending deliveries … and probably not so great at scraping basal cells.

It’s easy to lose sight of this truth as we play the comparison game, though. The internet (and blogosphere in particular) make it nigh on impossible not to not read someone’s beautiful words, gaze at their perfectly lit photos, and assume that they know everything: parenting, housekeeping, cooking, being the ideal wife. And maybe she does know it all. Maybe she is just that amazing. But I’m still willing to bet that on an episode of Wife Swap, the woman with the fail-proof, orchestrated systems and the menu full of manna would fail miserably in someone else’s home. Why? Because what works for her house, for her people doesn’t necessarily jibe with the day to day of someone else’s reality. You can learn from someone else. You can pick their brain and pick up tips and try their wisdom on for size. But it may fall flat instead of flying.

Your kids are your kids. Because God knew you were the one to raise them. 

Your husband is your husband. Because God knew the two of you would refine and refresh one another.

Your home is your home. Because God knew it was where you needed to be right now.

That makes you the expert. Because God gave you the job.

Keep that in mind the next time someone with the cutest shoes ever and an immaculate white couch and kids who never, ever miss the toilet entirely make you feel inferior simply by being. She’s not an expert on anything but the burdens God has given her to carry. And you? You are the expert on yours.

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