Motherhood = Servanthood

Just a simple thought I had this evening...

Our days at home have been full of defiance and declarations of independence lately. They leave me worn and discouraged and feeling like I could care less about discipline and good manners. They're also full of just plain childishness that, while not particularly driven by naughty motivation, would still exhaust even the most energetic of moms.

This evening our little guy turned from a happy camper into a growling bear right about supper time and wouldn't let me put him down while I tried to saute zucchini and set the table. He didn't want to eat and then didn't want to play. But I got him involved in his Mega Blocks, which kept him happy for a little bit, until I discovered as he rolled around on the carpet, that his whole back was covered in poop. Literally. (No wonder about the grouchies...must have had a tummy ache.)

So we had a good rinsing off and scrub in the tub and got back to our blocks. Then he pulls out his giant white teddy bear which is his playing companion for everything from basketball to cars to Mega Blocks. Before I knew it, he trotted off, bear in tow, and dumped him headfirst into the still full bathtub. I wanted to just leave the bear in the bathroom to drip dry but he begged me for it, so there I found myself rubbing down his bear with a towel and blowing it dry with a hair dryer while he "helped."

I have to admit, the thought in my head was, "Why am I sitting here blow drying a teddy bear? What is the point?"

Not long afterward, we were snuggled up reading from our favorite "The Jesus Storybook Bible," which, incidentally, he calls his "buh-bye." We were reading about Jesus washing the disciples' feet in John 13:

One by one, Jesus washed everyone's feet. 
"I am doing this because I love you," Jesus explained. "Do this for each other." 

That's when it hit me. I do these things because I love my 21-month-old son. Love is sacrifice. Love does the seeming silly things because they make others happy and takes care of the gross messes because others can't take care of them by themselves.

Being a mother means being a servant. If I can't reconcile myself to that, I will spend the rest of my life being miserable, expecting rewards for thankless jobs and being discontent with the hardships of this servant life.

My Jesus loves me enough to clean up my messes and fulfill my simple requests not unlike blowdrying teddy bears. He came to earth as the Servant King to die for me. Thankfully, just like vacuuming crushed popcorn from the living room and dealing with temper tantrum after temper tantrum is all in a day's work for me, saving the world is in a day's work for him.