Today I found myself becoming irritated because I have writing to do, and instead I was coaxing a toddler to sit on the toilet. For just one moment the attitude hit hard that I have more important things to do, and as that thought hung in the air over my frazzled, middle-aged, greying head, I felt my stomach drop.
Instant repentance washed over me, and I know Jesus heard the silent cry of my heart: Lord, forgive me. It’s easy to forget the unimaginable importance of mundane motherhood. It’s so simple to start viewing other, more interesting things as more important or more worthy of your time, talents, creativity.
The early years of parenting, while they can be entertaining, are mostly repetition of the same tasks over and over and over again. What is so important about wiping rear-ends, washing cups, cleaning up messes? What is so essential about reading kids’ books, letting toddler music take over, going outside where at least one meltdown is sure to occur? What is the big deal about the dozens of times a day you give instructions, make demands, threaten consequences, dole out consequences? I could name so many aspects of everyday parenting that can end up feeling like a never-ending merry-go-round. Where is the importance?
