Sometimes, I’m a phony. I don’t mean to be, mind you. It is true, none the less. {Do you ever look at a phrase like none the less and think, “what does that even mean?”}

There are days when I’m serving my little heart out what with the laundry doing and grit making and yes, honey, I can pretend to be a hunk of cheese and you’re a rat who is eating my leg. I don’t make up these games. I just play them, y’all.

I’m doing all the right things. I could instagram the moment, hashtag it #motherhood, and get me some virtual high fives.

But, here’s the thing. In my heart, I’m having a Martha moment. In my head, I’m thinking, what is the point of doing all of this if no one applauds? Yikes, that’s kind of embarrassing to see in print.

{Time out. The baby just spit up all over my Bible. Luke is never going to smell the same, by the way.}

I get caught up in the command to serve and forget that it is, also, a privilege. The feeding of babies, the matching of little socks, the making of special meals, the pride of a clean kitchen – they are all gifts.

Little girls are watching me and it matters what they see. I don’t want them to picture me grumbling as I clean the toilets or complaining about yet another stain on the carpet. I want them to see me, not just serving, but taking pleasure in the serving. I think of a quote from Mother Theresa that I once read.

The miracle is not that we do this work, but that we are happy to do it.

Let that one sit for a bit.

This morning, one of my girls woke me up by whispering in my ear. Mommy, do you want some grits because I can make them. She then made breakfast for all of her sisters, cleaned up after herself and made me a cup of coffee. And, y’all, the smile on her face was the best part. It tickled her to pieces to serve.

Then, there was the time another one of my girls took her entire piggy bank to the store because she had decided to spend it all on less fortunate kids at Christmastime. For days afterward, she kept telling me, It just felt so good to give it all away.

When serving becomes a burden, it’s time for a heart check. Our Savior was a server and it should be an honor to be the same.