My Life Class leader was praying this morning, and he lifted up motherhood. He prayed that each mom would be encouraged today, knowing that each act of motherhood that they do is an act of worship to God. I’ve kinda pondered over it all day.
Each act of motherhood is an act of worship to God. That statement alone is stunning to me. It encompasses the biggest events, like giving birth and adopting, to the mundane events of endless nights helping with the math homework you don’t even understand and breaking up fights and wiping sticky fingers and changing diapers, to the unseen moments of sweeping crumbs and preparing tomorrow’s lunches long after the kids have gone to bed, and stumbling in the dark to tend to a crying baby, or the prayers you pray while tears stream down your cheeks as you beg God to rescue your son from his addiction.
It also encompasses those times you don’t feel like mothering. But you do it anyway. When you had plans to go out of town with your best friend but minutes after you leave you get a call saying your kid is throwing up. And you turn around, and you go home. Or when your daughter tells you at 9pm that a project is due tomorrow and she forgot about it (also right here let me drop a quick mom hack: always have five to seventeen extra poster boards hidden in your home for such a time as this. You will thank me at 9pm on a Tuesday evening.) and you have to skip your show and help her do a science experiment and you let her go to bed and you finish noting the changes in her chemical reactions of her Coke every hour until your eyes fall out and you want to disown her. And when your four year old throws herself on the floor because she doesn’t want to wear pants even though we wear pants every time we leave the house, it’s suddenly a surprise to her. And she screams until your ears bleed and she makes you want to drive your car off cliff. But instead you wrangle pants onto your baby octopus during the weeping and gnashing of teeth while every explicative runs through your brain and you smile freakishly big and tell her she doesn’t have a choice, she has to wear pants when she goes in public, and she can do it with a happy heart or an ugly heart but she’s WEARING THE PANTS.
Those moments. The noble ones and the frustrating ones. Those acts of mothering are acts of worship to God. And the ones you think are unnoticed and unappreciated… are noticed and appreciated by the One being worshipped while you do it. Mothering is hard. It’s painful and messy and broken. But it’s so beautiful. Your acts of mothering are not in vain.
To my loved ones whose arms are aching for a little one… your acts of motherhood are very much acts of worship to God. The longing in your hearts, the anguish every month, the hot tears streaming through your fingers as you cry out to God… the way you face each day bravely and keep going.. you have a strength I will never possess. You have a love for your babies lost and babies wanted that I strive to have for my own. Your mothering heart is an act of worship to God, and while you may feel unseen and unnoticed today… you are very much seen and noticed.