Motherhood

I found myself thinking something today, something I don't really want to admit. But I have a feeling that my daughter(s) will someday think it too; so for their sakes I'll own up to my faulty thinking. After hearing a sermon on compassion and ministering to the poor I began to pray "Lord, what is my purpose here? If I am to be just a mom, that is fine." Just a mom. Have I bought the lie that being a mom isn't that important? It seems I have. It seems that I believe that I won't have that much influence over my child's life, that my only real job is to keep her fed, clothed, and clean, to keep Scott's drawers stocked with socks and undies, and to maybe take a shower every couple of days. I am simply the servant of those I live with. I suppose that is what I have come to accept that my life adds up to.

Steven Curtis Chapman's new CD has a song on it that speaks to motherhood. It is like he wrote the song for me. I need encouragement that I am changing the world with every tear I wipe, with every uplifting "you can do it" speach, and with each Bible story read at night. It is so easy to get caught up in the piddly things I do, stuff like wiping butts and racking my brain for a meal that I haven't made in a while. You know that meal. The one that will shake up the mundane meal schedule that is already planned. Yeah that one. The one that isn't appreciated by anyone but me and my taste buds. Or how about the lovely job of picking up the socks that I swear you picked up yesterday. Or vacuuming up the dog hair (a job that I do several times a week or the tumbleweeds of dog hair WILL take over). Now that I have depressed myself it would be a good time to remind myself that my life is not my own. As often as it feels like it belongs to Scott and Jordan, it really belongs to the Lord. I have to believe that I am not just a mom but I am a discipler of one who will soon call nations to God. Or maybe she will grow up to be a mom. Who knows. Okay, confession time is over. I am still not convinced of the importance of my job. I am, however, convinced that I am wrong in my attitude. I just need to keep speaking truth to myself. I hope that in time my heart will come around.

Now here are some pictures of my lovely.

Here she is making Ernie walk along the coffee table.

She still loves Daddy's orange hat. And just for size reference, that onesie is size 18-24 months. At 2.5 she is still in clothes measured by months.

This is what I got when I asked for a smile. I asked for a smile twice and the weird strained look just got more strained. So I snapped the pic. Kiddo is cute anyway, sorta smiling or not.

A big no-no. I asked for a smile and I was shown a mouth full of milk. First of all, she is supposed to swallow the milk. This has been an ongoing battle in our household. If she doesn't swallow it right away she ends up dribbling it all down the front of her shirt. No, it is not an accident. This is full on milk mouth control that she is practicing. I am now officially jealous of any mom who has a kid who smiles on command. I love photography and I get pics that look like this (or the one above). Other people have girls who smile and pose and love the camera. I have a goofball. I suppose that is okay. I'd rather have a goofball than none at all. I can hope that maybe, just maybe the next one will be my little model. At least she has personality, right? I can't ever say that she is a boring kid.