A sudden wail startled me from sleep last night.
My second daughter, our bright butterfly, was uncharacteristically frozen in bed with all her energy going into calling my name. Hair going every which way and lashes stuck together from sleep and tears, she knew her belly was sick but couldn’t remember what to do about it. I held her hand, guided her to the bathroom and held her hair back, and afterward poured her a drink of water, helped brush her teeth and tucked her back into bed with a bowl nearby.
I hate being sick and spent much of my many months of pregnancy avoiding it at all costs! Yet here I found myself, at 1:15 in the morning, willingly dealing with what was probably the consequence of too much indulgence at the movie we’d been to that afternoon.
Moms work hard.
We run laundry and buy groceries, make meals and wash dishes, comfort hearts and read bedtime stories. We listen and counsel, train and disciple, snuggle and carpool. We stretch dollars and fish sticks and sweater necks, hours and bedroom space and patience. We deal with things we’d rather avoid, all because we love our children.
There are a lot of things we do on purpose. But what about the things we’re doing without even being aware of them?
When I was tucking Savannah back into bed the second time that night, smoothing her hair back from her face and saying one last, hopeful prayer for rest, I thought about the fact that I have no such memories. Maybe it’s why I’m so fretful when I’m sick now. Anyway, I realized that while she may not remember that particular night, there’s been a certain atmosphere she’s breathed all her life which she surely will remember.
We really have no choice in the matter, mamas: we are leaving a legacy.
Every morning, when we make breakfast and greet them with a smile or lounge in bed while they pour cereal. When we hustle them off to the day’s activities with shrieks of “Where are your shoes? Your bag? Your … stuff?!” or bend heads together over God’s word. When we respond to the cries of even the tiniest ones at night.
Our children are taking mental notes. On the days we want them to, and the days we don’t.
Believe me, I’ve said plenty of prayers asking the Lord to erase certain days. The ones where hormones were high and patience was low. I’ve pulled blankets up over my head and offered TV rather than my attention, too. Someone has said that mothering is a marathon … not a sprint. Only the Lord can give us the strength we need to finish this mothering marathon well.
“Let us not lose heart in doing good, for in due time we will reap, if we do not grow weary.” Gal. 6:9
That sounds an awful lot like a command to me! Let us not. In other words, if you begin to grow weary, stop it. Which means you and I have to know where to go for help.
The good news? He is here. Closer than the breath we breathe. Living right within us, the Maker of the universe, flinger of stars, designer of galaxies, Boss of it all.
And He is looking for those whose hearts are completely His …
“that He might strongly support” them. ~2 Chron. 16:9
Might you qualify for His support today, friend? Are you one He is looking for? If your heart is His, you’ve made His list. Won’t you cry out alongside me for His help, today?
That we might leave a legacy of faith rather than fear?
Of grace, rather than striving?
Of love, rather than anger?
Of patience, rather than short-temper?
Of a soft answer, rather than a raised voice?
Father, I lift all these sweet moms to you. I ask that You would draw close to each one of us, Lord. Help us! Oh, Lord, help us to be more like You. We can’t do it on our own and You know we are but dust. Without You, we can do nothing. With You, we can move mountains. Come breathe in us today, Lord; that we might fill our childrens’ sails with Your life and send them out strong, carrying a legacy of a mama who leaned on Jesus. In Your mighty and precious name, Amen.
Blessings and prayers for you today! ~ Misty