Blessed are you, Father, for bestowing upon me the honor of motherhood. For allowing me to experience the deep joy of bringing forth life—a joy I often take for granted and instead choose to begrudge.
My children’s cries and demands have worn me down. I do not recognize myself. I selfishly long for the old me. My thoughts are an intangible mess of never-ending tasks, self-criticism, and comparison to those around me.
But Your word says you are near to the broken-hearted and downtrodden. You do not forget the cause of the tired and the weak. The world around me proclaims that contentment is found in myself. In your kingdom, this is not so. You say blessed are the poor, the sad, the sick, the least—the worn out.
As I fall into the monotony of house-keeping, of cleaning yet another dish, of wiping another little nose, of scrubbing Play-Doh from the carpet, let me see your holy hand at work in making me new, in preparing me for a kingdom this world will not recognize. Renew in me a spirit of joy for the lives I have created—that you have entrusted me to disciple. Protect me from the enemy’s plans to distract me from this kingdom-building work.
May I find in You alone enough . . . enough patience, self-control, grace, love, and discipline so that You are made beautiful in this seemingly insignificant work.