A Mother’s Work and Reward

I step outside and immediately hear, see, and feel the crunch. Of leaves, that is. They’re everywhere, even though before the sixth grandbaby was born on the 27th, I was consistent at the seemingly unproductive job of gathering them into the wheelbarrow and transporting them to the field. My thought has been: a few more gathering sessions and I will be finished. The trees will be bare, winter will be here, and I can relax and read all the books I didn’t need to buy over the Summer.

But Fall persists. And for now, I let it, because … the flu. Or something that feels like the flu. Two nights ago, I had the grandkids over to make pumpkins from paper plates and pipe cleaner. (And for an excuse to spoil them with goody bags.) The day after that, yesterday, I babysat three out of six, and we again brought out the craft supplies, which are still gracefully scattered about my living room and dining room as if it all went down an hour ago. And by went down, I of course mean exploded.

But here I lay, I can do no other, so help me God. Amen. (A little Luther humor for you.)

My bathroom needs cleaned.

I would like to take more meals to the new mom in the family.

I would like to get a halfway decent meal on my own table.

I have two sewing projects, one painting project, and several writing projects that are unfinished and nagging at me like Archie Bunker nagged Edith for more beer.

A mother’s (and grandmother’s) work is never done, and my life is the epitome of that truth this week. Maybe most weeks. The question is what to do with the fact that my work is often never ending, mundane, frustratingly methodic, seemingly pointless, maybe even brainless at times, and notably unrestful. Who can truly rest when there’s so much to be done, no matter how much gets done?

Washing dishes is not rocket science, and when the dishes are finally loaded in the dishwasher, someone comes along who has been cleaning their room and puts a bowl of crusty chili a la mold in the sparkling sink. Raking leaves takes a little brawn, but not too many brains, and when you finally have enough leaves to pass as a pile, sometimes a Fall wind comes up, scattering them as if your last twenty minutes of work never occurred. I could articulate a million real life, frustrating examples, but the point is, sometimes – sometimes, not always – I get jealous of a husband who goes to work, completes a project, sends it to outer space via the Hubble telescope or some other famous NASA project, gets a paycheck for it, and a certificate of appreciation to boot. Or when he preaches and receives an honorarium just for his effort. I mean, what does he do that doesn’t earn him something in return?

Of course you’ll notice I am not starving to death, clothes are on my back, and I don’t have the burden of appeasing a boss or impending project due dates that, if I don’t meet, will end in a search for employment. Nor do I have a forty minute commute to work each way or a responsibility to make sure other machinists are doing their job swell or don’t need any counseling. I’m not exactly falling into the category of poor or destitute or lacking anything, really.

And in a sense, isn’t my husband’s work incessant as well? When one project is finished, another is waiting on his workbench the next morning. Sometimes, he’s required to work on multiple projects at once, to work weekends and ungodly hours that keep him away from home until wee hours, and when he gets home, there’s manly work waiting.

I could go on …

A man’s work is never done either. And just because his work differs from mine, does not mean his is more important, more fun, fun, fun, or (and this is what I’m getting at) … more significant.

Feminism lies and says men’s work is superior, and therefore, all men view themselves as superior. Feminism lies and says traditional women’s work is lame, boring, means nothing, and therefore, all women are inferior.

If a man makes a remark about how awesome sauce he is for bringing home the bacon and my only place in the world is in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant, fine. He’s a jerk on the inside and his jerk-ness is boiling over. If a woman makes a remark about how she’s sick of serving and being unappreciated and “unpaid” and therefore her life is insignificant? Fine, she’s believing a lie.

Truth is: nobody’s life is insignificant. Whether you’re a scientist, a politician, a dishwasher, a mom, a doctor, or a toenail fungus remover, you are here on earth for a reason. You matter. But the human heart is prone to pride, and that pride comes out as either inflating our self-worth, or deflating our self-worth. Those who are self-deprecating may think they are being humble, but they’re not. They’re overly self-focused, and extreme self-focus is pride. As for those who over-inflate, well … let’s just say their sin is a little more flamboyant and therefore painfully obvious.

What are we doing trying to find self-worth solely in what we do, anyway?

What we do matters. I’m not disputing that. But who we are matters infinitely more. No work can get us into heaven. The only thing that can get us there is placing our faith and trust in Christ and His work on the cross. And of course, if we are bound for Heaven, we are a child of God. We are Christ’s heir. We are His handiwork. We are loved with an everlasting love. We are citizens of Heaven once we die, but also now.

In Christ is where we should find our worth.

So whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God. (I Cor. 10:31, emphasis mine)

God cares about your heart in whatever you do. He cares about what you do, too, and I believe the common grace he bestows on all people can include, for example…. the skill of the brain surgeon who is also an atheist. It is not impossible for Him to use whomever He wishes, whenever He wishes. It’s just that true success doesn’t always look so American. It looks humble, loving, self-sacrificial, and God-glorifying. Not self-gratifying, not self-glorifying, not necessarily money-making or a dream come true.

A mother’s work may never be finished. But I’ve come to embrace that. Because the work of a mom, though difficult, is also rewarding, and filled with joy and a nagging sense that if it is so unimportant, as feminism often tells us, the incessant spiritual battle where it is concerned wouldn’t be a thing. The Enemy doesn’t seek out those who are not threatening to his cause and are distracted with pumping up their sense of self-worth and self-esteem, which can be a full time job in and of itself. He seeks out those who are God-glorifying, self-sacrificing, and contrite. He wants to shake them up. Make them feel teensy weensy. Insignificant. Unloved. Miserable. And therefore ineffective. It’s his way of seeking to devour.

Don’t let him. Resist him, and he will flee. I know putting up a spiritual fight is hard and exhausting. Not one day, sometimes not one minute, goes by without the struggle. But thank the Lord we have the armor we need, available to us at all times. We have the belt of truth around our waist, the breastplate of righteousness in place, the Gospel of peace fitted on our feet, the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit. (Eph. 6:10-18)

Motherhood (and grandmotherhood) is worth the blood, sweat, tears, and spiritual warfare. Children really are a blessing, but they’re also much hard work. They are vulnerable and need moms and dads and grandparents to fulfill their God-ordained roles appropriately. I personally think mothering and grandmother is rewarding in the here and now, but that requires a certain, intentional outlook that took me years to cultivate with much help from God and godly examples in the church.

If you are a young mom and are struggling to have a healthy, godly outlook on your mission, strive to adopt the attitude, the truth, that nobody offers a single cup of cold water to little ones in Jesus’ name without making an eternal impact (Matt. 10:42). That applies to your life and the life of your children.

So keep on keepin’ on. Get your armor on and never take it off. Keep your eye on the prize. Run your race. Believe what God has said. Offer more cold sippy cups of water. Clean the bottoms. Wipe the noses. Break up the sibling rivalry. Be sweet-spirited even if you’ve not slept well for two weeks. Disciple. Do it all with love, so as not to sound like a clanging cymbal. And you will by no means lose your reward.