When my boys get to sass talking their mother, it’s time to whip out the big guns.  I call on Mr. T for help and does he ever deliver.

I literally make my boys watch this.  Because you just can’t beat the pearls of wisdom spilling out of that man’s mouth.  And the quality music.  How parents managed before the age of YouTube, I cannot even guess.  

It’s ministry Monday again! I have been contending with myself about which ministry I wanted to write about.  Myself decided to write about something dear to me.  Being a mom.  An unsung (except on Mother’s Day) occupation, which is so monumentally important.

Whether you work or stay at home, being a mom gives you the unique position of being one of the most influential persons in a child’s life.  What you model is speaking a language to the children under your care that cannot be rivaled.  I spend my day with four human’s with partially mature brains.  They are watching my every move and basing their moods, thoughts and behaviors on what they see in me.  That is terrifying  such an honor.

All too often I drift into an “if only” mode.  If only I had become an interior designer, if only I had travelled, if only I had opened a book store, if only I had finished school (I say finished but I only took a class and then got pregnant again).  Seriously, folks, I allow my mind to dream up a greener grass for myself when I am in the middle of my chaotic life surrounded by children.

I feel embarrassed when people ask what I do for a living and I admit that I stay at home with the kids.  I feel ignorant, mousy, unimportant.  But it is only when I downplay the role I have taken on, the role of being a mother, that I truly become ignorant, mousy, and unimportant.

I have been convicted by God.

You are fearfully and wonderfully made, he tells me.

I delight over you with singing, he says.  You are my child.  I delight in you.

I have a plan for you.

He whispers to my soul, You have a hope and a future.

You are valuable to me.

You are lovely to me.

You are mine.

My child.

My daughter.

I see no blame in you, I see myself reflected in your eyes.

When I was seventeen I decided that I would be a mother and there was nothing else in the world that I was more suited for.  It happened when I was taking a break from studying for my AP History final.  I had a large straw hat and leather gloves while I pruned the grape vines in the small orchard beside my grandmother’s house.  I smelled the heat in the late May air, I smelled the wick vines as I gently snipped away at them. I thought of God.  He isn’t always gentle when he prunes away at the less than useful parts of my life.

The sun was setting and I knew that I had better get back in and re-look at my history notes one last time before I go to bed.  “God this all feels so pointless.  Please tell me what you want me to do with my life.”  I breath in; grape vines, spring wind, and dust.  I breath out; frustration, loss and longing.  Somehow when I exhaled I saw the fulness of the wild sunset in the distance.  The horses were eating beneath the eaves of the barn unaware that above them was an ecstatic, irrational display of color.   “It is all pointless, daughter, if you are living for your life on earth.  This is only a breath compared to your future with me.” It was the still, quiet voice.  “Enjoy your life.  Life a quiet, brave life and work with your hands.”   It was then that I knew what I would do with my life.  I would be a mom.  Somehow I just knew if through and through and without any doubts.  Everything else became steps toward that goal.

Right now, downstairs, are four boys.  They are my precious charges.  Vulnerable, impressionable and beautiful.  They are distinctively unique and yet incredibly malleable.  I am their mother.  They are my life’s work.  They are portions of my heart walking about outside of my body.  This is my calling.  I will try (and frequently fail miserably) to show them the gospel.  Jesus loves you, children, more than you can fathom.  He adores you, boys.  So much.  You will fail, often if you are like your mother, and you will need forgiveness.  God knew that.  He saw deep into you and made a plan.  Jesus died, boys.  He died quite terribly.  He decided to take your guilt and shame and make it all his own.  But that’s not all, children.  His story did not end.  It never ends.  He came back and he came back a champion.  You are champions, my boys.  Every time you remember that Jesus loves you no matter what, you are victors.  That is your good news, children.  That is the only thing you need to know to be a success in this world.  The rest will take care of itself.

If I can portray this good news to my boys then the masses of laundry in the corner and the unkempt house fades into the background.  My longing for a more glamorous life becomes nothing.  I am fulfilling my mission.  I have brought into the world four humans, I will love and pray for them until I am in my Savior’s arms.  That is my life’s work.  And that is enough.

Thank your mothers.

If you are a mother; remember that you are uniquely qualified to be the mother of the children entrusted to you.



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