I have this unusual fear that a hair is going to find itself wrapped around one of my children’s toes and I will not catch it in time. I may sound extreme, but this has already happened to my daughter once, creating an emergency run to the ER to have it removed. My hair is so thick, and honestly, I shed like a dog. You would never know though. I think for every hair lost I gain ten new–some type of family curse brought upon us long ago, to which I have no clue as to how the spell is broken.
I see it everywhere, on our clothes, our carpets, our lives. I am exaggerating, right? Well, only by a little.
So here I am, Ms. losing all my hair but gaining it back ten fold, playing “restaurant” with my kids in their bedroom one morning. I just finished reading about this female CEO. Her story is incredible. She is incredible. She is one of so many amazing women out there. I pretend to take a bite of the pizza being served to me by my daughter and wash it down with a big sip of tea from my son. I look around at my life, at my own day’s accomplishments…
Okay, I really haven’t accomplished anything yet today, unless you can count feeding my toddlers breakfast as one. Well, more like making them breakfast. There are still going sour bowls of milk sitting on the counter…
I shake it off. I am just a mom at this point of my life, but I know it is a priceless gift. It does not matter if anyone else ever acknowledges what I am doing; if I I feel I am sometimes convincing even my own self of my worth.
I take both my kids in for a group hug and squeeze them tight. I notice one of my hairs on my daughter’s shirt–one of my billion hairs which found itself a part of the cuddle. And in that instant I remember these words:
“Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered…” ~Luke 12:7
Such an unimportant thing, how much hair we have. And in my case, such an awful amount of counting.
But God finds it important.
He finds you and me important, our lives important. Our messy haired, messy kitchen, just shut the laundry room door lives important.
That morning you spent folding laundry and kissing boo boos, trying to somehow remove the crayon off the walls while singing “happy and you know it” with the little ones–He sang along with you.
That evening when you tried to cook one handed with a baby on your hip and a toddler on your leg. When you finally finished the half eaten meal with a look at the pile of dishes ahead of you and sighed–He smiled at the sight of you.
That night when you sat beside the toilet with your sick child, in between washing the third load of sheets. When you brought her frail frame right next to you in bed and held on tight in dear love–He lied right there beside you.
The days and nights of seemingly insignificant life with kids, full of noise and chaos, never ending feeding and cleaning, going from this place to that place–He finds these moments eternally important.
You may think of yourself as “just a mom,” as your duties significantly less than those of so many other women. He finds your life so important that He even takes the time to notice all that hair you pull out each day.
You may never find your name in Forbes magazine, or receive a bonus come end of the year. You may feel tired, worn out, and just plain insignificant sometimes. But even when the days seem long and the nights never ending, know this: you are more than just a mom. You are His daughter.
And He thinks your life of “mommy” is something irreplaceable.