The Holy Work of motherhood. The long hours walking the floors; bouncing, rocking and dancing until the tears turn to dreams. The dishes and laundry done on repeat. Barely put away and it’s time to start again. Kneeling to pick up toys and clean floors more often than in prayer.
But it can all be a prayer. The discipline of repetition in love. The tracing of names and faces into our souls as we pour ourselves out until we feel empty; only to be filled again by a smile, a snuggle or a kind word.
Most of the time I don’t think of my own motherhood this way. But I should because there is nothing more sacred, more holy than suckling a baby, wiping tears, or giving love. It’s what we’re made for. To be like the Father who created us, just to love us. So in our human, imperfect way, we mimic his Holy act with sacred work of our own.