“What do you really want for Mother’s Day?”my ten-year-old daughter, Lizzy, asked as I stashed the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher and scrubbed drizzles of spilled milk off the kitchen counter.
I glanced up at the clock, down at my ratty pajamas, and over my shoulder at the toddler who had just waddled into the room with a saggy diaper. Church would begin in ninety minutes, and chances were strong that we’d be late. Again.
My husband was already at work, and two of my kids were out in the yard getting their church clothes dirty as I chased down the other three children who still had bed head and morning breath. What I really wanted was to grab my Bible, put my feet up and sit in the quiet with my Savior rather than hurrying to church to spend an hour picking up the crayons that rolled off the pew and hushing my small one’s whispers. But I told myself that quiet was probably overrated, and I tried to think of an answer that would satisfy my sweet girl without interfering with my mission to make it to church on time.
“I think I’d just like to take a hot shower today,” I replied with an appreciative smile.
My daughter raised an eyebrow at my dull request; then shrugged her shoulders. “Well, that should be easy enough,” she said as she scooped up her droopy-diapered sister and headed for the nursery. “You go take a shower, and I’ll dress Stinky Pie.”
I nodded and headed to the master bath with my coffee cup in hand. When I passed through my bedroom, I grabbed my Bible off of my bedside table and tucked it under my arm. Maybe I could take a quick soak in the Word before I soaked in the shower. Hopeful, I locked the bathroom door, perched on top of the closed toilet lid, and opened my Bible to the book of Hebrews where I’d left off days ago.
Immediately, my seven-year-old, Hannah, knocked on the door.
“What are you doing in there?” she asked.
“Taking a shower.”
“I don’t hear the water running.”
“I’m just getting in!” I replied and shuffled my feet on the floor for a convincing sound effect.
“Well, can you hurry?” my middle child asked. “Joshua just stepped in dog poop with his church shoes.”
I sighed and took a deep breath.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” I assured my daughter. “Just leave your brother’s shoes on the front steps.”
I dropped my eyes back to the pages on my lap and tried to focus on the Holy writ.
The door knob rattled. “Mommy, are you on the potty?
I glanced down at my improvised chair and giggled. “Yes.”
“Is it stinky?” my four year-old inquired.
I reached for the coffee mug that sat beside me and inhaled the sweet aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. “Not as stinky as your church shoes,” I replied, taking a long sip of steamy java.
“Well what’s taking you so long?” my preschooler whined. “I want you to play with me.”
Before I could answer, I heard the thumping of more footsteps, and the voice of my twelve-year-old son interrupted my preschooler’s complaints.
“‘C’mon, leave Mom alone,” my tween chided. Then, with a twinge of sarcasm, he added. “It’s her day to be Queen, so just let her sit on the throne for a minute.”
The four-year-old rattled the door once more and began to argue, but big brother offered a piggy-back-ride to the basement, and soon the chatter beyond the door dissolved.
I glanced at the clock and knew I needed to hurry. So, I downed my last drop of coffee and took one final peek at the Bible on my lap. I read the words of Hebrews 4 and laughed out loud.
“So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most” (Hebrews 4:16).
I wasn’t just reading the Word of God; I was living it!
There I was, perched on a porcelain throne, attempting to draw near to the Throne where mercy waits and grace abounds. And with a sigh of gratitude, I realized that one of most unexpected gifts of motherhood is this–
Motherhood makes me desperate for Jesus.
Motherhood magnifies my weakness and makes me desperate for my Savior’s strength.
Motherhood drains my energy and makes me desperate for the Holy Spirit’s filling.
Motherhood plunges me into chaos and makes me desperate for my Heavenly Father’s peace.
Motherhood reminds me that I’m not enough and makes me desperate for the One who is.
I’d just closed my Bible and turned on the shower’s spigot when Lizzy rattled the door to get my attention. “Mom! Maggie’s in the yard in her church shoes.”
“I’ll be out in a minute,” I hollered as I stuck my head out of a hot stream of running water. “Just try to keep her out of the mud.”
My tattle-tale paused. “Um, Mom….Her church shoes are the only things she has on.”
I grabbed a towel and stepped out of the shower; then peered through the steamy window to our acre of backyard green. Sure enough, my eyes confirmed my the door-knocker’s report. My toddler was dancing across the grass in her birthday suit and a muddy pair of glitzy gold sandals.
I quickly pulled on my church clothes and unlocked the bathroom door to find Lizzy waiting on the other side with an apologetic grin. She shifted her gaze to the entertainment beyond the window and shook her head in disbelief.“Maybe next year you should just ask for breakfast in bed,” she said with a wink.
I wrapped my arms around my daughter’s slender shoulders, and then headed outside to round up my Sunday morning streaker.
And as I raced across the dew-dropped grass, I reminded myself that on a Mother’s Day not so far away, I may celebrate with a long hot soak and a refreshing splash of silence. But today, I’ll choose to be thankful for the mob beyond my bathroom door and the One who faithfully showers me with strength to meet their needs.
For what are you thankful this Mother’s Day?
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