Sometimes God speaks in a still, small voice. Other times he uses trash that’s fallen down between the bed and the wall. Whatever works.
It’s Sunday morning. Bubba and I are stuck home together because he puked three times in the early morning hours….once in his bed and twice in ours. I’m attempting that delicate dance of baby watching and housework at the same time. I’m sure moms who work at home get really good at cleaning while playing, but I usually do just one or the other. But with the sheets on all three beds needing to be washed, I didn’t really have time for that. (Chica’s sheets were in need of cleaning from a different bodily function earlier in the week. You can only make a kid sleep on the floor in the sleeping bag for so many days in a row before sucking it up and just doing the wash. Bad Mommy.)
Anyway, after stopping for the 17th time to read some dumb book about a parrot running away from a tiger, I finally got back to making Bubba’s bed. Like I always do, I pulled the bed away from the wall a bit, both to rescue fallen books and help get the sheets tucked down. I found the usual lost sock and board book, but I also found this:
That is for sure my handwriting, but I have no memembery of writing it down nor what motivated me to want to remember it. I have a good guess, though. I’m betting I wrote it in a sleep-deprived haze when my “work” and “lot in life” consisted of not much more than a milking cow. I can’t lie….those days were hard, girls.
So I can’t go back and change the amount of joy I had then, but you can bet I had a quick attitude check with the sheets in hand. Was I enjoying this work? Well…to be honest…no. I was (slightly) aggravated that I had to be home, annoyed that we have only one good set of sheets per bed, and contemplating how much faster I could work if I didn’t have to keep stopping to read about the parrot.
But I want God’s gift of enjoying my work, and I want to look back on my life without sorrow, so I guess I might as well start with the sheets. Fake it ’til you make it, right?
I have so many reasons for joy, and I’ve decided to try to count work as one of them. Work in all its forms: housework, school work, and mommy work. I didn’t do a very good job of that today. (I’m thinking in particular of the moment when I was cleaning up 3/4 of Bubba’s dinner off the floor and got pelted, on purpose, by his “wa-wa” cup. Still looking for the joy there.) But if I tell you I’m trying to be joyful, then maybe I’ll find even the tiniest bit of joy tomorrow. Sounds like a plan.
How about you? How do you take joy in your work?