I Am No Mary, but This Work Is Holy Too

Life is demanding right now.

Motherhood feels like the most thankless, neverending job.

I don’t remember when I last washed my hair; I just keep undoing the falling-out bun and twisting my tangled curls into another one.

I’m still bleeding from giving birth just over three weeks ago but there’s hardly any time to maintain personal hygiene. The garbage in the bathroom is overflowing with used pads—both period and nursing—as I hurriedly change both in the few precious minutes I manage to get.

Changing the trash bag will have to wait until later.

Christmas is one week away and while we managed the tree and Advent wreath, the holiday seems far away. My husband and I drift through our days in a daze, sleep-deprived because our newest addition has colic and acid reflux and therefore sleeps even less than most newborns. Yet we try to make the days cheerful for our 2-year-old, who is old enough to understand the festivities this year.

We talk every night about the candles we light: hope, peace, joy, love, and the Jesus candle. We sing Christmas carols and read the Advent story before bed. We’re doing our best to make Christmas special.

I can’t imagine what Mary went through in a stable. She didn’t have a breast pump to allow Joseph to help with the middle-of-the-night feedings; she didn’t have Netflix to help pass the hours as her newborn slept on her chest because nowhere else was comfortable for him; she didn’t have hot tea and chocolate in the wee hours of the morning.

Maybe Jesus was the perfect baby—who knows?—but Mary’s work was holy. She was the mother of the Savior. And while my boys aren’t destined to save the world (at least not on a Jesus-scale), I’m reminded tonight that my work is holy too.

The 15 minutes I spent reading to my toddler and rubbing his back to help him get to sleep two hours past his bedtime were holy moments.

Rocking my newborn as he cries with gas pain is holy work.

These days, my holy work is changing diapers, nursing, doing laundry, singing Christmas carols, cutting up bananas, making bottles, and watching the Magic School Bus.

It feels neverending and exhaustive but mothering these two boys is the most holy, Kingdom-building work I will ever do.

Our nights may not be silent right now, but they are indeed holy.

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Articles by Rebecca Stieva

Rebecca Stieva

Rebecca lives in Montreal, Canada where she spends her days trying to keep up with her two boys. When not pretending to drive cars around the house with a two-year-old or teaching a nine-month-old how to use a spoon, she loves a good cup of tea, chocolate, and naps.