So it's like this at the Sanders' house right now: I get one room cleaned up, the random toys that have been strewn about, the blankets that have been dragged in, the laundry that has been sitting for too long... and then I move on to the next room and repeat. Toys, blankets, laundry. Toys, blankets, laundry. Toys. Blankets. Laundry.

It's relentless.

The picking up.

The rinsing.

The loading.

The unloading.

The washing.

The drying.

The folding.

The putting-upping.

And we are, by no means, perfectionists in this house when it comes to order.

Which is a good thing.

Because how in the world do all you precious perfectionists survive out there with a toddler and a crawling baby moving behind them, undoing all the perfecting?

Oh the heat that radiates off my head when a bowl of yogurt gets spilled on a freshly mopped floor.

It's a marathon, mothering. It's no sprint.

And the toys. blankets. laundry. can be paralyzing sometimes because most days I'm not making progress, I'm just setting limits around the growth of the "messy, messy, messy" (as Oliver is so fond of telling me.).

And my heart starts to throb and my head starts to ache and my mind starts to wander to things that feel bigger and more important than what is happening inside our four walls.

And then I read this friend's sweet words about the work of mothering.

And it was such a gentle reminder about the work we do as moms.

There is so much more going on in the toys. blankets. laundry. routine of our lives.

We are image bearers, doing image bearing work.

As we slip books back into book cubbies and use the end of a broom to sweep out toys that have rolled under the couch and match one tiny blue striped sock to another tiny blue striped sock, we are restoring order and pushing back chaos.

And isn't that such God's heart? This God of ours who loves peace and establishes order. (1 Cor 14:33)

As we sort lights, and darks, and measure out scoops of white laundry powder. As we carry full laundry baskets on our hips and fold clean clothes on living room rugs we are taking something dirty, and making it clean.

And isn't that such God's heart? This God of ours, who spilled his own blood, that we might be washed whiter than snow. (1 John 1:7, Isaiah 1:18)

The running of baths, the tipping of wet chins while we rinse soapy hair, and the wrapping of towels around nakey, wet little bodies... it is a labor of love. Sitting on knees and leaning over tubs, ministering to the least of these.

Isn't that such God's heart? This God of ours who runs to the weak, and the outcast, and the shamed and the shunned. (Matthew 19:14, Matthew 25:40)

This work that we do. It has the Father's heart beat all over it.

We are bringing peace, making clean, and doing it all to the least of these.

Oh that my mind would stay put within these four walls today. As I'm folding size 2T undies, and putting a size 2T bum on a red timeout stool, and wiping spaghetti hands at dinner, and picking up all the toys, blankets, and laundry.

It is a reflection of God's heart.

And if I am attentive, if my eyes are open, if my heart is tender and my mind is present... I can hear echoes of the gospel in the work of morthering.

So let us not get weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.

Galatians 6:9