Hey there, mama trudging up the stairs with a load of clean laundry that you tell yourself you’ll get to later . . .
Can we chat for just a minute?
We both know what will happen with the laundry. The littles (and you) will just ransack the hamper to find clean clothes for the next couple of days. And that’s perfectly OK. Hey, if you have clean undies for the family, consider that a win. Folded laundry is highly overrated in my opinion anyway.
No judgment, mama. I’ve been there. But my kids are older now and I’ve become one of those moms I used to look at enviously—you know, the mom who shopped alone and undisturbed while I breathlessly pushed my overladen grocery cart with squished produce vying for space with my littles, while a trail of Goldfish crackers tracked our path through the store. (Not to mention the several pairs of irritable eyes that stared down my noisy crew).
As a mom whose babies are now teens, I still don’t have it together.
But life does become somewhat easier and less demanding as children grow up and don’t have to be hauled around in car seats and grocery carts. As an older (ahem) mom, I want to encourage you with my words—words like, “I see you, mama,” or “You’re not alone in this,” or “You’ve got this.” I really do. But I think you’re deserving of much more than my feeble cheers. I believe you’re deserving of the truth—the truth that will carry you through those moments when the laundry basket is not the only thing weighing you down.
The truth, dear mama, is I don’t see you.
But there is One who does. In fact, He doesn’t take His eyes off you.
He promises He sees your going out and your coming in. That means when you zip up little winter coats and maneuver pudgy feet into fluffy pink boots and hastily strap in 5-point harnesses and try to breathe through it—He sees you.
And He says, Hey, mama, I don’t just see you—you are the apple of my eye.
He says to you, I don’t just see you, I have inscribed you in the palm of my hand.
He says to you, I don’t just see you, I rejoice over you with singing.
He says to you, I don’t just see you, I am with you, and I promise never to leave.
He says to you, I don’t just see you, I carry you.
So, mama, as you trudge up those stairs, stop a moment, catch your breath, and let Him enfold you in His love, in His enoughness, in His presence.
As you think about your to-dos, remember you don’t have to get it all done because He’s a God who is far more interested in whether your heart is full than if your hamper is empty.
As you set down that laundry basket, mama, take a minute to also lay down your cares and fears. He wants to carry your burdens for you. He already sees them, and He always sees you.