Today I pulled the kids’ clothes out of the dryer and shoved them unceremoniously into the laundry basket.
It was a mundane task. It was a chore. But suddenly the sight of the full laundry basket sent my little heart spinning into orbit.
Little boy socks with a permanent mud-ring at the top of the shoe. Thomas the Train underpants. Blues and greens and soft dinosaur pajamas.
Tiny baby girl clothes. Sweet pink outfits in newborn sizes already too small for her. Ruffles and butterflies and pink-flowered footie pajamas.
Girl stuff. Boy stuff. Co-mingled there in a picture of all my blessings that rushed to my soul in a flash-flood of joy and thankfulness.
I’ve shared before that I thought I didn’t want kids, ever. My vanity said pregnancy would do too much damage to my figure. My selfishness said it was too much to give. My budget said there was no room. And I heard the lies of society loud and clear: children are tiny hurricanes of marital destruction, doom and the death of your dreams.
I saw the picture of the frazzled mom, crazed, isolated, hair in a tangled mess, showers a distant memory, mostly-chewed goldfish rubbed into the threads of her faded mom jeans.
I didn’t want a part of that.
I didn’t believe God when He said that children are a blessing. A reward.
But in His infinite grace and wholly unmerited favor…
…He showed me He knew better.
…He laughed at my ignorance and gave me the greatest blessings I will ever know.
…He showered on me an unspeakable joy that I thought I didn’t want.
…He showed me that His way is higher.
And in showing me what these childen are to me…
He showed me what I am to Him.
He taught me a depth of love that brought my selfishness to shame. He gave me perspective. The humbling opportunity to give Him this broken, shattered offering: a life of parenting these children to the best of my ability despite my constant fumbles, and He promises to bless even this unworthy sacrifice.