It is the craziest thing, motherhood.  First it makes you sick, then it makes you fat.  Once you are so fat you can’t stand up without help, the true work begins.  I’m not talking about the childbirth stories (I have 5, all different, none worthy of dinner conversation) I’m talking about the lack of control, the diminished attention span, the preplanning just for a walk around the block.  Carefree days of eating late, sleeping in, roadtrips at the last minute…GONE.  What can you expect?  Bodily fluid on your clothes and hands.  Crayons, legos, barrettes, cars, books, videos strewn throughout your house.  In one sleepy dash across the house to find the missing yet all important blankie/binky/stuffed friend I have stepped on all of them.  I care so much it hurts.  I work so much harder than I ever thought I should, so does my dishwasher and washer and dryer.  Funny, I haven’t named them yet, I guess I should.  Everything else in this house has a name, and I am expected to remember them all.  Heck, I can’t remember my own kids names, that’s why they also respond to their birth order numbers! 

Yet, I am reminded of a passage in I Corinthians, chapter 15, verse 58, which reads,

“Therefore, my dear brothers, stand firm.  Let nothing move you.  Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.”

This verse has held me together when things get rough or I am too tired to give the toddler’s nose another swipe as he runs by.  I have been up all night with children’s nightmares, illness, my own issues.  The next morning my bed screams my name, my eyelids feel scratchy, my head pounds.  Yet my children still need to be fed, clothed, cleaned, and taught.   My Savior keeps my eyes open and my head up just long enough for me to accomplish His mission for the day…being Mom. 

My children want simply to be children.  Carefree, innocent until observed by Mom, giggly children.  They love to wrestle, burp, sing like no one can hear them and act surprised when everyone on the street stops and stares!  They love to make up knock knock jokes that don’t make sense, then giggle ’til they fall off the chair.  They love to show me the most disgusting bug or ball of snot just to see me turn green and stutter.  I love to watch them hug everyone that makes them smile at church, and tackle the unsuspecting college student who needs some love.  I love knowing my kids are so well loved they can’t help but love everyone around them (except the sibling who just took the last cheese stick). 

I wish I could save the hugs, messy kisses, and dirty little arms sneaking around my neck while I read that book again for when they are with their own families, their own lives… all grown up.  Why can’t we just ration the affection?  Instead everything comes so hard, so fast we can’t take stock until we can’t find that messy kiss, that dirty little arm.  The face cleans itself, along with the arm that is all grown up.  Our child doesn’t need us anymore, at least not the way we can easily recognize.   Maybe that’s God’s blessing, something to remember and hold onto when the house is finally quiet, everything stays where I put it.   

That’s when I know I wasn’t moved.  My labor in the Lord was not in vain.