I had a ticker tape to-do list. Mow the lawn. Mop the floor. Make appointments. Manage a two-year-old. And those two cups of Diet Coke I drank before 10:00 a.m.? They didn't even scratch the surface of my exhaustion.
It was the kind of day that tests a mommy. Measures her mettle. Plumbs her patience. Weighs her worth.
And yesterday? Let's face it. I didn't measure up.
On the surface, it was a productive day. By bedtime, I had crossed off every item on my to-do list. And I even managed to squeeze in a few extra chores that have been clamoring for my attention. But looking back? I missed the mark. By a mile.
You see, that to-do list? It was my mission. My motivation. And in my hurry to clean up and cross off, I became frenzied. Frazzled. Frayed.
I was a picture of un-grace.
Let's face it, "hurry" and "toddler" are mutually exclusive. Like opposite sides of a coin. And because they cannot coexist, a choice must be made. Between to-do lists and toddlers. Between routines and relationships.
Between hurry and heart.
Yesterday? I chose to hurry.
Sure, I completed my list. But at the end of the day, I had lost more than I had gained.
Because hurry? It corrodes. It corrupts. It is a joy-stealer, a hijacker of happiness.
It puts the words "I'm busy" before the words "I love you."
It puts my tasks before your needs.
It puts responsibilities before relationships.
Hurry hastens through hours, makes short work of minutes, and scrambles through seconds without acknowledging the miracle of this moment. The stunning beauty of the here and now.
And hurry? It doesn't jive with my mission as a mother.
You see, I've been given this little person for a little while. And in this time - this moment, this blink of an eye - my mission is to point my son to his Maker.
Yesterday? I was ruled by my to-do list when I should have been governed by grace. I was impatient. I scolded. I was quick to say "I'm busy" and "not right now."
In short, I failed my mission. Miserably.
Because how can I tell my son about a Savior who welcomes little children when I push him away?
And how can I show him the intimate, personal care of an Almighty God when I ignore his pleas for attention?
And how can I show him the patience of a forgiving Father when I snap at him for getting in my way?
And that's when it hits me. I have nothing to offer my son except Jesus.
The thought stops me in my tracks. It liberates, emancipates, relieves. This haste? This striving? This mad dash to clean up and cross off? It doesn't have to be this way.
I don't need to hold it all together
because I can lead my son to the One who holds the world in His palm.
And I don't need to have a spotless house
because I can guide my son to the One who can give him a spotless heart.
And I don't need to rush through this day
because I can direct my son to the One who holds all of our days in His hands.
My mission in this moment is to be the hands and feet of Jesus to this little human.
Everything else will just have to wait.
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