A Game-Changing Perspective of Motherhood

As a mother of young children, sometimes I wonder . . .

What if I got to the end of my day and actually felt like I accomplished something?
What if I didn't feel like I had been derailed and distracted all day long?
What if I knew for a fact that my time and energy went toward something constructive?

Wouldn't that be nice. Do you ever feel the same way?

As it turns out, I think these desires are accessible; it's just a matter of thinking correctly. Lately I've been noticing that discouragement, worthlessness, and discontentment grow out of the misconception that our real work is everything except mothering.

Imagine if you and I awoke each day thinking accurately that our real work is mothering. Not only that, but imagine if we were honest about the job description and consciously surrendered to the cost of love.

What if we went into the day anticipating all of the hard work?

I think we'd see motherhood for what it is and would feel a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment at the end of the day, don't you?

If I, for one, began my day with this in mind, I wouldn't be so shocked, dismayed, inconvenienced, or annoyed by my children's needs, childishness, and idiosyncrasies. Instead, I'd realize that all of these "inconveniences" and "distractions" are important aspects of my job; that they're not "inconveniences" or "distractions" after all. In fact, they're the very essence of a lovely, worthwhile motherhood.

Choosing to think more accurately about my calling—one morning at a time—will change everything about how I evaluate my day.

Today . . .
there will be injuries I must soothe,
arguments I must moderate,
something broken I must fix,
and something lost that I must find.

There will be frequent hunger pangs that I must satisfy
and thirst that I must quench.

There will be spills that I must clean up,
bottoms that I must wipe,
accidents that I must change, and illnesses that I must treat.

Today . . .
there will be offenses I must forgive,
forgetfulness I must overlook,
and hundreds of questions that I must answer.

There will be boundaries that only I can uphold
and schedules that only I care to keep.

There will be disorder that I must pull together,
dismay that I must comfort,
and disrespect that I must address.

Today . . .
people will yell for help passionately—urgently—demanding my presence.
I must run to the rescue.
Sometimes, I'll discover a legitimate emergency,
but most of the time, it will be the smallest complaint that will melt with a kiss.

Today
there will be someone to carry,
someone to dress,
someone to help up,
and someone to hold up.

There will be someone to teach,
someone to inspire,
and someone to appreciate.

Today . . .
there will be someone asleep whom I must wake up,
and there will be someone awake whom I must help sleep.

There will be injustices I must make right,
meanness I must restrain,
kindness I must encourage,
memories I must treasure,
and goodness I must celebrate.

Today . . .
there will be wrongs to confess,
sinners to love,
a Savior to worship,
and grace to receive.

Today . . .
my work as a mother strangely and beautifully resembles God's work as our heavenly Father.

Today . . .
my occupation is His occupation;
my service, His own.

And today . . .
if this is all I accomplish,
I must fall asleep feeling quite satisfied indeed.

Today, I can do these anticipated tasks with joy and gratitude, because God Himself wakes me up in the morning, feeds me with the Living Bread, gives me good work to do, soothes my weary heart, and runs to my rescue whenever I call for help.

How can you see your work for today, whatever it is, through God's eyes and not your own?

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About the Author

Laura Booz

Laura Booz

Laura Booz loves to discover the real-time application of the Bible and write about it on her blog www.LauraBooz.com. Because of the current joys in her life, most of her topics focus on marriage, motherhood, and ministering in the local church. She and her husband, Ryan, and their four (going on five) children make their home in Pennsylvania.

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