The grind of the day,
the tasks she endeavors.
Are par for the course,
that a mother does weather.
She cleans sticky hands,
wipes bottoms and feet.
Steps on cheerios & legos,
everyday on repeat.
Feeds them, and directs them,
helps them to learn a game.
Tries to plan healthy meals,
without making them the same.
Asks them some questions,
as she plops down from the day.
Work was a tough one,
but I want to hear what they say.
Master Chef, Master Driver,
Master Schedule Planner and Friend.
Cleaning Lady, Peacemaker,
where does my job description end?
I am tempted to resent,
all the work for my child.
Where is the credit,
for taming the wild?
Where is the Mom of the year award,
I so desperately want to receive?
Where is my glory past due,
and the credit that I need?
No one sees the mundane,
the lowliness of acts that you do.
And so you are tempted,
to let frustration brew.
If only some recognition,
was what the people gave.
Singing just a tad of my praises,
is what I really crave.
But then there comes the moment,
the sting inside our heart.
That to be first you must be last,
counting the cost may not be smart.
For who took off his garments,
and washed the feet of those he loved?
Such humility and lowliness,
from Jesus, God-man from above.
No menial work too low for him,
washing the feet he helped create.
The potter serving the clay,
not grasping tight to his estate.
So mother when you’re tempted,
to feel drudgery knock your door.
Recall your Savior greater than you,
who became a servant that was poor.
Equality with God he didn’t grasp,
but instead became sin for you.
So that you might have his righteousness,
and from there the fuel to do.
Yes, you are a servant mama,
God has called you to lay it down.
But oh the joy in serving,
where his treasures are to be found!
See our world has it backwards,
that recognition is our source of joy.
Yet the hundred flatteries of people,
without pleasing God is just a ploy.
I’d rather have one hundred acts,
of faith done out of sight.
Because one day the God who sees,
will say “well done” to my delight.
He is with you in your chaos,
he is with you in your mess.
Jesus knew mundane serving,
so we can serve from a place of rest.
Singing songs in your heart,
for the dishes you get to dry.
Stopping at an inconvenient time,
to be the shoulder on which they cry.
Staying up later than you want,
because that’s when they want to speak.
Making sure they get up in time,
encouraging them when you feel weak.
The daily tasks, the ins and outs
are not purposeless or trite.
They have eternal significance,
and are not hidden from his sight.
For though the Lord is high,
he regards the lowly in his gentle care.
And the lower I go in my service,
the more I treasure the Cross he did bear.
And at the lowly foot of the Cross,
pining for attention and credit falls away.
In the humdrum of wiping little faces,
I long for the face of Christ I will see one day.
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