A Creative Work
It is a summer evening, and the warm sun still glimmers, low on the horizon, as I close the door to Elisa’s bedroom. Through the open window in the hallway a lilac-laced breeze flutters inside. I breathe in the sweet fragrance, reviving my weary heart.
The living room is strewn with toys; the dinner dishes are scattered over the sticky oak table. There is dry laundry waiting to be folded, and my fingers trace a line through a layer of fine dust as I lightly brush them over the banister on the way downstairs. I sigh. Where did my day go? How can there still be so much work to accomplish? Quietly clearing the table, I think through the day: the meals prepared, the stories read, and the tears dried. I sang at naptime, and recited nursery rhymes while pushing Elisa on the swing. I helped build a block tower and stirred a pot of make-believe soup. Sadie’s diapers were changed and rinsed. Elisa was lifted onto the “big girl potty” a half-dozen times and propped against the sink to wash her hands with lots of vanilla-scented soap. I played peek-a-boo. I searched for – and found – Elisa’s special flower blanket. I pushed a double stroller down a dirt road and stopped to stare at the horses. A thousand small moments form one long, simple day.
There is nothing tangible to show for those fast-paced hours of caring for children and my home. The still-crumpled laundry and messy kitchen are the only souvenirs from the day’s journey. My spirit feels rumpled, restless, and uncertain. Is this all there is? What am I doing with my life? I want to honor the Lord by using the gifts He has given me. I want my life to bear fruit that will last. And this – this hodge-podge, messy day – doesn’t feel fruitful.
Or is it? I felt called to leave my career as a nurse and stay home with my babies. But what is it that God means for me to accomplish in the razzle-frazzle of child-rearing? For a few moments, I ignore the mess and curl up on the couch with my Bible. I’ve been reading slowly through Galatians, in a contemporary version that makes me smile. In Galatians 6: 4-5, it reads “Make a careful exploration of who you are and the work you have been given, and then sink yourself into that. Don’t be impressed with yourself. Don’t compare yourself with others. Each of you must take responsibility for doing the creative best you can with your own life.”
I read those words again. How does God do it? How does He breathe fresh life into words that I’ve read so many times before? The words are familiar, but they wash over me as if brand new on this quiet night.
This is who I am! I am a mother. A nurturer. A wife. A caregiver. And this razzle-frazzle, hodge-podge crazy, messy life is the work I have been given. This is what God has called me to do. I need to sink myself into my work, doing the “creative best” I can with my own life. Maybe at the end of the day I have little to present to the world. There is no completed product, no artistic masterpiece except for Elisa’s construction paper drawings.
But someday the hours of life that I pour into God’s children will bear fruit in their small hearts. As I teach them, train them, love them, and show them Christ, their molded hearts and lives will bear witness that I have been faithful to the work God has given me.
Closing my Bible, I lift my hands to the Author of my life. With a smile on my lips, I pray, thanking Him for my children, for my husband, and for the simple, seemingly mundane duties He has given me to accomplish.
And then, humbled, I ask Him for wisdom to faithfully and creatively complete His work.