It’s been a trying week. We’ve run too fast, and when we’re breathless, bolting from one commitment to the next, our behaviors take a hit. We unravel. The boys bicker, and I snap. The house is a mess, and though I give until I’m hollow, I’m 10 steps behind.
My husband, Lonny, planned to take the older boys on an overnight, and when the date rolls around, I’m spent. But the calendar offers no room to flex. He leaves, and the smaller two boys and I decide to splurge and have a night on the town. Dinner. A movie. I’m tired, but my little sons had seen previews, and their eyes were bright with hope.
It’s what we do as mothers. We give from the body. From the heart. From the soul’s deepest place.
We dress and drive and when we arrive at the restaurant, two little boys stand side-by-side to hold the door for me. When we’re shown to a table, one son pulls out my chair. After the server takes our order and there’s time to talk, a son looks me in the eye and asks, “So, Mom, how was your day?”
The boys’ desire to be gentlemen, to hold me in a high place with chivalry, has moved me. Now this question tugs my spirit. My child already knows about my day. The three of us have spent our hours as one. But the question, this reaching into my life, brings me fresh perspective. It renews my vision.
My efforts, my work, the giving and spending of the soul, has value. I may not always see the fruit moment-by-moment, and perseverance can be a struggle, but the benefits of pouring into others, of stretching thin to cover someone else, holds honor.
And the reward of the giving is sweet.
Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. (Luke 6:38, NIV)
We go about our evening, boys behaving as the grown gentlemen they’ll one day be, and when we return home they ask if we can all sleep in my bed. We gather extra pillows and sink under my down comforter, and now they are little boys again. My arms stretch to curl around these children who were born of my body and my heart. The window is open, and the night seems to breathe with us.
I’ve found peace.
Being a mother means the giving of one’s self. Over and over. Again and again. But this giving is a gift, and the reward outweighs anything I could offer.
I am thankful to serve my family–to give what I have for others.
Motherhood is an honor, and servanthood is a crown.
