What Is Motherhood? -- Two Sides of the Question

Author unknown

Please be sure to read the second part, "The Other Side," which has to do with this photo.

The One Side

It's such a waste of time to cook,

I'm just a walking cookery book.
I make and bake the morning through,
The favorite pies and pudding too.
And then in half an hour or less,
My toil has gone to nothingness.
It's a waste of time to dust the stairs,
To clean the brass, and polish chairs,
To sweep, and pick up bits of fluff,
For nothing's ever clean enough.
Five minutes after I am done,
Someone is sure to romp and run,
Kick out the stair-rods, flick the mats,
Slam the doors and scare the cats.
Some sticky hand is sure to press
The brasses from their sprightliness.
I tidy up and do the dusting,
But all the while, my wings are rusting.
Then washing day, it seems to me,
Is just a waste of energy.
What use to stand before a tub,
And soak and rinse, and blue and rub?
Next week the self-same garment's stain
Will come into my hands again.
It's such a waste of time to mend,
One has no sooner reached the end
Of last week's pile, then---need you ask it?

This week's fills up the mending basket.
The stockings which were hale and hearty
Return from each picnicking party,
Weak and worn and wanly show
Great gaping holes in heel and toe,
While the buttons have a cantankerous way
Of disappearing every day.
Sponging off the spots and ironing creases,
Between it all, I'm worn to pieces.
Woman, from cradle to grave
Is nothing but a galley slave.

The Other Side

I've done an angel's work today!
Yes, such an honor came my way.
Real angel's work!  And lest you doubt it,
I'm going to tell you all about it.
Well, first, I cooked.  It was so nice
To plan the pies, stewed fruit, and rice.
God sent His angel once to make
Cakes for a poor wayfarer's sake.
But just today He honored me,
And sent the task my way, you see.
Then while I tidied up the place,
Gave every knob a radiant face,
Back of my mind this thought would lurk,
That I was still at angel's work.
Putting away coats and dresses,
And moving small unsightlinesses.
For, oh! 'tis such a lovesome thing,
Just straightening out and freshening.
And after that I washed a few
Small woolly garments, old, not new,
Things I had rubbed and rinsed before,
Quite forty times or even more.
And as I hung them on the line,
I thought what God-like work was mine!
To cleanse---ah, me!---to wash out stains,
Till not a single speck remains.
So later in the day 'twas sweet
To sit and rest my tired feet,
While mending the clothes, and planning too,
How to make old things into new.
For surely 'tis an angel's way
To put things right from day to day,
To find thin places, and repair
The glad rags and the sturdy wear.
Since wear and tear must surely be
On this side of Eternity,
I'm feeling very proud to say,
"I've done an angel's work today!"

The Invisible Mom: From Mundane to Miracle
Used with Permission by April Dawn White
 
  As I spread peanut butter onto wheat bread, God whispered, "It might appear mundane, but I can turn the mundane into a miracle!"

I loathe the monotonous mundane process of packing lunches.  Today when Andrew requested, "Mom, pack me extra snacks so I can share" my mind wandered to the story of five loaves and two fish, a miracle that occurred because a little boy shared his lunch.

"Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish, but how far will they go among so many?" (John 6:9, NIV)

Do you know who's not mentioned in the story? Who is unnamed and whose hand is invisible? The crucial unmentioned character in this story is the mother that packed that lunch!

As I packed lunches, I began to weep.  I cried for all the times we as parents, particularly mothers, perform all the insane in the mundane tasks that go unnoticed.  Standing in the kitchen, spreading peanut butter onto wheat bread, God whispered to me, "It might appear mundane, but I can turn the mundane into a miracle!"

The story of Jesus feeding the five thousand (a number probably closer to fifteen thousand people when women and children are included) is recorded in all four Gospels (Matthew 14:13-21, Mark 6:30-44, Luke 9:10-17, and John 6:1-15).  However only John explains that the food offered was from a little boy's lunch.  Jesus multiplied what the boy shared.

Little is known about this boy and his mama. Was she among the women in the crowd or did she stay at home tending to younger children? This invisible mom played a part in Jesus' miracle even though she was unseen. God blessed not only the meal, but also her mundane task.

God sees all our work and effort. He sees the mundane lunches being packed and the endless pile of laundry. 

What if we knew God was going to turn our mundane task into a miracle? How would God's involvement change our outlook on these responsibilities?

God might be using your mundane task to lay
the foundation for a future miracle! 
With that in mind I ask, would you like grape or strawberry jelly on your peanut butter and jelly sandwich?

~April Dawn White

"May the favor of the Lord our God rest upon us; establish the work or our hand for us... yes, establish the work of our hands."  (Psalm 90:17, NIV)

About the Author:

April Dawn White is quick to say she doesn't have it all together but relies on the One who does. In 2012, April began writing a blog titled Red Chair Moments. From her red chair, she chronicles how to find the balance of life when feeling stretched thin. God has used her writing to spread encouragement to over 20,000 viewers in ten countries and two prisons. In 2015, she was asked to join the team of writers for Inspire a Fire. You may connect with April at: Email redchairmoments@gmail.com
Inspire a Fire http://inspireafire.com

Invisible Mother

Author unknown

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store.  Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?'   Obviously , not.  No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.  I'm invisible. The invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?

Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?'  I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30, please.'

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated sum a cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going; she's going; she is gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England.  Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in.  I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself.  I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.'  It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe.  I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription:

'To Charlotte , with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'

In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book.  And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: 

No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.

These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.

They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.

The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.' And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.'

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place.  It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become.'

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life.  It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder.  As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on.  The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.'  That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself.  I just want him to want to come home.  And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, 'You're going to love it there!'

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right.  And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

Great Job, MOMS!