Chick Chat: My Soul Doth Magnify

I am a mother tired. But when my soul doth magnify, my time doth magnify. --Ann Voskamp

Yesterday I spent so much time on my hands and knees, pregnant belly dangling, as I mopped each board of our downstairs floors with bleach water. I scrubbed away old food droppings from beneath the highchair. Bits of dried strawberry, crumbs of bran muffins, and salsa chicken strips that it's a wonder our boy hadn't discovered before I did were disgustingly glued to the floor. My rag rubbed at smeared drool stains that caught the sunlight streaming from the windows. I braved the contractions that came with this hands-and-knees task.

I vacuumed. It always makes me feel effective when I vacuum and hear the happy grinding of minuscule dirt and grime particles being sucked into the hose. If I'm going to drag my multi-piece vacuum out and haul it around the house I had better hear some awesome dirt sucking noises.

Then, for some strange reason, I felt compelled to hand mop every step on our two flights of stairs. Oh, yeah, the compelling reason was they were filthy.

I was certain my husband would be proud. Heck, I was proud.

That was yesterday.

Today I watched with frustration as the dog we are sitting for the week carried dried, dead grass from the backyard across my floor. We aren't talking a few stray grass pieces. We are talking I had to walk to the backyard to see if there was any grass LEFT. But don't forget, I have a ten month old. He likes to eat everything he sees on the floor. Even bugs. This means I spent the day sweeping grass off the floor and out of my boy's chipmunk cheeks. of course.

My sparkly floors are dingy again. I inwardly cringed as a drooly boy smeared more grossness across the mopped boards and smiled as he did so. He drooled, he spit up, he dragged water from the dog bowl, and then crawled buck naked around as I tried to let his diaper rash catch some air.

Instead of strawberries glued to the floor, I was challenged by the broccoli specks stuck because the dog had jumped onto the table and knocked the bowl of broccoli to the floor and eaten all but the heads.

Today was not my day.

I did manage to get the bathroom counter cleaned, a huge accomplishment, and I cleaned out poopy diapers. But I didn't just scrape them. No. That would be too easy. Instead I sat on my knees, little brown Pampered Chef scraper in hand, and worked over the commode with diaper in hand. But my little sidekick? The one with adorable cheeks? Yeah he doesn't leave my side. He crawled into the bathroom, stood by the toilet, and tried to mess with his mess. We had to wash hands and yell "NOOOOO!" a few times as he tried to reach into the nasty brown water of the bowl.

Yesterday I felt like Superwoman. The conqueror of the household duties. Queen of clean.

Today? Today I watched all the work I did yesterday get flushed down the proverbial toilet of life.

And I fumed.

I was mad.

I wanted to cry.

I am a mama tired.

My husband came home, confused as to why I was upset, and both he and the little boy fell asleep for early evening naps.

The house was mine.

It was quiet.

I didn't vacuum the floors again.

I didn't mop on my hands and knees.

I didn't try to "fix" everything that had been messed.

Nope.

I prayed.

I stopped looking at the floor. I washed dishes, cut up squash for dinner, and I prayed for my heart. I listened to the quiet of the moment and felt God gently correcting my angry, bitter attitude.

I wonder how many times He feels like He makes great progress with me, and within only a few hours I have taken His progress and tracked mud all over it.

Instead of staying mad at how all "my" work had been trashed, I counted my blessings. I gave thanks. I gave thanks for a little boy who smiled and crawled all over the floors while drooling. I gave thanks for how happy he was to crawl in and out the open back door--dragging his rashy little booty behind him. I gave thanks for the contractions making every moment uncomfortable. I gave thanks for hot, sudsy dish water that made dirty, grimy dishes sparkle.

I gave thanks.

My soul doth magnify.

It's in the perspective, friend. When my soul magnifies the Lord instead of grumbling about the sabotage of my work, I see the beauty and the thanks.

As I washed dishes, waiting on my men to wake up from their nap, I felt peace cover my heart and my soul began to magnify and praise.

And guess what?

When Gracin awoke my tone was gentle. Instead of snapping at my husband I served him. Rather than feeling unmotivated to do one more household task I worked hard to make a delicious dinner.

My time doth magnify.