As a mother of little ones, I deeply desire feeling recognized for what I do. Here's how unexpected grace found me on a day the Lord met my greatest need.
No one was there to praise me for how I managed the house or the kids. And the world certainly didn’t exalt my line of work either. No promotion. No monetary compensation. And although I wouldn’t change anything because I knew the seeds that I was sowing were eternal in nature, the temporal feeling of loneliness was nonetheless felt.
I looked at my kitchen counter, littered with onion peelings, tops of unscrewed seasonings, and random measuring cups in no certain order.
My mother’s helper (a young homeschooled girl who I hired to help me with the kids twice a week) played with the kids in the background while I studied the already food-stained cookbook in front of me. I had 1.5 hours left to make a scrumptious french lentil soup, vegan banana bread, and garlic green beans for a potluck feast that my son’s homeschool community group was hosting the next day.
As I turned on my Instapot and churned out all the ingredients, I couldn't help but smile with anticipation at the thought of my newfound mom friends and their guests eating my food and smiling with delight. The thought energized my impregnated body that had just begun entering into the stage of the “wobble.”
The aroma of garlic, onions, and tomatoes completely infiltrated the tight space of our kitchen, while the fiber of my clothing inhabited the smells of each.
“My mom’s here,” my helper yelled.
Perfect timing. I thought.
Everything was done and in their respective dishes for the next day. I stood proud and made a quick video.
While transferring the soup into its container, my hands lost its grip on the stainless steel container and soup splattered all across the floor.
My two-year-old daughter came to see the commotion, and I watched in slow motion as she couldn’t resist the temptation to stomp her lightly colored tennis shoes onto the tomato-based soup. I hunched over and moved her to the side, stifling a silent scream of despair and frustration wrapped in one.
What came out was a deep groan.
“MOVE!”
I didn’t want to process what just happened.
Instead, I grabbed a few paper towels and wiped the floor in quick succession, hoping that I could perhaps wash away the memory as quickly as it occurred. I then ran to take off my daughter’s tennis shoes. She was now on to her next mission of going up our carpeted stairs with signs of paprika still on the crevices of her kicks.
I didn’t have much time to breakdown. I still had to make dinner for the family and my husband was working late, so that meant I needed to make dinner, feed the kiddos, and then get them dressed. We had been invited to a church service that night by a friend.
As I moved from task to task, I felt the Holy Spirit beckon me to call my sister and ask her to pray for me. Although I wasn’t visibly breaking down and fairly calm, I could feel something on the surface begin to bubble. After rescuing the potential for a severely clogged toilet, since my two-year-old daughter ran upstairs to flush an entire roll of toilet paper down the drain, I felt again the Holy Spirit say, “Call your sister!”
I came downstairs, placed the broccoli and noodles on everyone’s plates and Facetimed my sister who lived thousands of miles away.
She didn’t answer.
“Pray for me. Kiddos are a lot right now. ” I texted.
She instantly responded, “I’m praying John 14 over you.”
I didn’t quite know what John 14 was, and I surely didn’t have time to look it up, but instantly the Holy Spirit spoke these words to me.
“Peace I give to you. My Peace, I leave to you. Do not let your heart be troubled. Neither let it be afraid.”
My one-year-old daughter dumped her plate onto the table and my two year old followed suit.
Once we were done eating, I slapped the kids coats on and ran upstairs to change my food-stained shirt. When my husband walked through the door, he and I greeted one another with a quick kiss and went straight to the car. While driving, I felt a strong desire to just escape and go to sleep… on my heavenly Father’s lap.
My husband spoke about his day and then he asked about mine.
The tears came and the confession.
“I know it sounds small, but that soup represented recognition for me. I kept thinking, ‘I’m going to be acknowledged and recognized for something.’ And when I saw the soup on the floor, my one hope of feeling seen dissipated .”
I explained how my work felt so unseen as a stay at home mother.
No one was there praising me for how I managed the house or the kids. And the world certainly didn’t exalt my line of work either. No promotion. No monetary compensation. And although I wouldn’t change anything because I knew the seeds that I was sowing were eternal in nature, the temporal feeling of loneliness was nonetheless felt.
My husband looked over at me as we approached a stop light.
I knew he might’ve been searching for a solution.
After a pregnant pause, he asked, “Do I not recognize you enough?”
The well that had run dry inside of me couldn’t be filled by man. That I knew. I needed the Lord.
“This has nothing to do with you. I just want your empathy. Can you just touch me?”
He placed his hand on my thigh for the remainder of the car ride.
We walked into the church building.
The church was undergoing major renovations. There was no heat. Construction tape roped off many parts of the building. Once inside the sanctuary, Evan and I took our three small kiddos and sat off to the side in the very back row. While my husband and I attempted to get our kids all settled in, I heard the worship singers on stage singing, “You Know My Name” by Tasha Cobbs Leonard. Tears flowed down my face with little restraint and wouldn’t stop.
The Lord knew my name.
He saw me.
He really saw me.
And, He knew.
The worship set flowed from song to song while I witnessed individuals lost in complete worship. The energy in the room felt as though “time” didn’t take precedence.
There was no rush.
No hurriedness.
No formalized set.
It felt as though we were all sitting at the feet of Jesus, absent of the worries and trials that faced us the moment we walked out of the building’s doors.
My kiddos pulled at my legs here and there.
My youngest moved with a hint of restlessness while siting in her daddy’s arms.
But I felt a complete freedom and abandon that made me completely enraptured in the words sung by those around me. The well that had run dry was filling up steadily, and I didn’t want it to end. I couldn’t.
In my periphery, I saw a man approach my husband. They spoke briefly and shook hands. I turned in the man’s direction and waved politely and returned back to my state of longing.
But then, I felt a hand on my shoulder. The man who had spoken to my husband now stood behind me.
“Can I pray for you?” he asked.
On our car ride over to the church service, my husband relayed to me that he knew a team of ministers who were visiting from another church and that many had the gift of prophecy. He mentioned that this group of ministers were going to be there that night. This man who stood behind me was one of the lead pastors from the visiting church.
“Yes,” I retorted quickly to his question.
He placed his hand on my shoulders and paused.
“Come, Holy Spirit.”
He continued to wait.
After a few moments of silence, I heard him gasp, “Woooooooow. Wooowwww. What’s your name?”
“Jessica.”
“Huh?”
“Jessica,” I said louder over the continued worship music.
“Jessica…your roots go down so deep. Wooooooow. Your roots go down soooooo deep,” he kept repeating. He continued to speak things about my life that only the Holy Spirit could have revealed.
Then he paused.
“And Jessica, for some reason, I see like a dishwasher.” I felt him searching for the right words.
“Yeah, I see a dishwasher and like dishes. And I sense the Lord saying that you will encounter him even while you wash dishes. Even while you change diapers. Expect encounter.”
I smiled inwardly to myself. Did he know just how much I stood in the kitchen day after day?
“And I see the Lord giving you His Peace. Complete Peace,” he said. The same peace spoken of through John 14 that the Lord led my sister to pray over me.
He then spoke about the child in my womb. And spoke a promise of the baby that I’ll keep to myself.
He spoke about how the Lord viewed my heart in the spiritual realm.
Then the prayer ended.
I walked into a church building that I didn’t know…seeking to be seen and affirmed. And this girl, with the smell of garlic and onions still on her hands, this girl who sat in the very back row, this girl who so desired to feel recognized. The Lord sent this man, who was visiting from an entirely different church (and did I mention, country?) to share with me that…
The LORD SEES ME.
Even if no one was applauding me for making breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Even if I never received any accolades, compensation, or public praise for my line of work year after year after year after year…the God of the entire universe reminded me that night that He knew. He saw. He cared. And most important to me, the work of my hands and the prayers of my heart were not in VAIN. They were actually reaping more fruit than my eyes could see.
I started the day off hoping that I could receive man’s outward adulation over a bowl of soup. Instead, the Lord gave me so much more.
He showed me His hands clapping for things that I thought no one saw. He showed me how He viewed my heart despite my sin. He showed me the gifts the Lord longed to give me, if I but open my hands to receive them.
In short, He showed me that the audience of ONE was more than enough.
I walked out of church with my well completely filled.
I’ll see the fruit of my prayers and of my hands. If not now, one day.
Proverbs 31: 30-31
30 Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.
31 Honor her for all that her hands have done,
and let her works bring her praise eat the city gate.
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3 Ways Princeton Prepared Me for Motherhood
I am my best comparison. Some moms make their kids meals from scratch every day, some are super organized and have weekly toy rotations, some have detailed curriculums and homeschool like Harvard professors, some dress their kid to the nine, and some have sleep trained and potty trained their child by the age of 2.
I personally don’t like arts and crafts. I feel stressed thinking about following strict times to do things. I prefer to stay home all day and do home activities (this quarantine was an easy adjustment). But do you know what I do love?
I am my best comparison
I attended Princeton during the era of grade deflation. This meant that no matter how well you think you did in a class, your grade was based on that of your peers. A certain percentage of students were allotted an “A”, no matter if 100% of turned-in material was “A” quality. So if everyone began acing papers in your small seminar class, the bottom percentage of those A’s were given B’s and C’s in order to proportion out the grades.
Thankfully, Princeton no longer has grade deflation, but during my time there, I and my peers dealt with this unnecessary stress. Learning for the sake of learning often took a backseat. Creatively expressing one’s own thoughts and ideas, often shadowed the thought of how other students were creatively expressing theirs too. You see, competition reigned supreme. Knowing that one’s grade was literally dependent on the performance of a peer, often drove many insane.
After one year at Princeton, I made the conscious decision to do my best and to leave the rest to God. For the next three years, I forced myself to compare myself against myself.
My motto became “You just do you... I’ma do me.”
In motherhood, it’s easy for many to compare themselves to others when it comes to parenting.
Some moms make their kids meals from scratch every day; some are super organized and have weekly toy rotations; some have detailed curriculums and homeschool like Harvard professors; some dress their kid to the nine; and some have sleep-trained and potty-trained their child by the age of 2.
I personally don’t like arts and crafts. I feel stressed thinking of following strict times to do things. I prefer to stay home all day and do home activities (this quarantine was an easy adjustment). But do you know what I do love? I love making vegan and gluten-free desserts for our son. I love the idea of planning out the next set of board books to order from Amazon. I love imagining which parts of the book I think my son will love. I love taking him on walks outside and pointing to the trees and butterflies. I love presenting my son with classic toys made from wood and seeing him explore different ways to play with that same toy over the weeks and months.
Princeton taught me to celebrate and learn from the strengths in others without feeling threatened…because living in a state of constant comparison can easily drive anyone crazy.
2. Nothing usually goes according to plan.
And I mean nothing. A few months ago, when I was much earlier in my 2nd pregnancy, I made plans on taking my son out for an activity and then going to two grocery stores before heading home for lunch. Sounds simple enough, right? After the first stop to the grocery store, I realized that I was becoming faint-like and needed to eat something ASAP. I drove to Whole Foods, which was nearby, and decided to grab a vegan cookie and some chicken (during pregnancy I find that I have to eat meat, otherwise my nausea gets really bad, very quickly). I grabbed my son’s stroller, put him in, and headed straight to the hot food bar.
After grabbing my items and checking out, I couldn’t wait any longer. So I took out my vegan cookie and began chowing away on its sweet goodness while navigating the stroller with my other hand on the way to the car. Unknowingly, when I reached the curb of the sidewalk outside the store, my hot barbecue sauce (you know, for my chicken) poured out of the stroller’s cup holder and onto my son’s pants and down his leg. He was sticky all over.
I made a u-turn, went back inside, finished my cookie of course, and headed straight to the restroom that was some distance away. I somehow cleaned up my son inside the small cramped restroom (with the little strength I had—hello 1st trimester) and then thoroughly cleaned off the stroller, while keeping my ever-wandering child from entering into other people’s restroom stalls.
I kept hearing my roaring stomach and felt extreme fatigue setting in. Finally, we made it back to the car (nevermind needing more barbecue sauce), but upon reaching the car door, I realized that I didn’t have my keys. The hot October sun didn’t make things better. I was becoming weaker by the second.
Retracing my steps through my mind’s eye, I realized that I may have accidentally thrown away my keys when grabbing several napkins to clean off my son and stroller.
At this point, any dwelling on the recently occurred events would’ve led to a breakdown. So I didn’t dwell. I couldn’t. I simply grabbed my stroller once more and headed back inside.
I headed straight to the restroom to make sure my keys weren’t there and realizing that they weren’t, I headed directly in the direction of the manager and explained to him that I needed to do a thorough search of a particular trash-bin. I didn’t have time for judgment. I just needed to get back to the car, eat my chicken, and get home. Thankfully, my “I’m about business” stance dissolved upon hearing that a stranger had actually found my keys and turned them in already. A “Praise the Lord” resounded from my lips, and my son and I were off to the car.
A few minutes later, after ferociously consuming some baked chicken in the driver’s seat, nausea and fatigue set in even further. I knew that I was going to throw up at any moment’s notice (after this, it would take weeks before I could consume chicken again). My son’s cries in the back, as it was way past his nap, didn’t help. Let’s just say, I barely made it home.
Plans? Every mother knows that any day can go in a multitude of directions. From poop explosions to toddler meltdowns, to unexpected messes, to dinner plans suddenly looking like a multitude of “healthy” snacks mashed together, to “I’m going to get an hour’s worth of work done since the baby is asleep” suddenly being disrupted by a shorter than usual nap from your bundle of joy.
Princeton taught me to do the best I can with what I have. In college, sometimes I had only one hour to write a five-page paper. And you know what? I found a way. Sometimes I only had 20 minutes to send a professor an email, run to the dining hall for a quick meal, and download that day’s precept readings. Instead of dwelling on less than ideal circumstances, I learned in college to literally make the best with what I had.
3. You gotta laugh at your mistakes and refuse to place your identity in them
During my Sophomore year, I took Molecular Biology. My friends and I met faithfully in our study groups, shared excellent outlines, stayed on top of our readings, and visited office hours. Leading up to my midterm, which was 20% of my final grade, I felt confident.
On the morning of my exam, I even got dressed up. This was the first midterm in which I felt so sure of acing the exam, in light of grade deflation. When the midterm was over, I gathered my belongings and caught up with some of my study partners to discuss our thoughts on the exam. Very quickly, I discovered that there were a few questions discussed in conversation that I couldn’t recall. Within minutes, I realized why.
I hadn’t completed the very back page of the exam.
I couldn’t believe it. All the hours of studying, memorizing, outlining, office hours. I knew the material like the back of my hand. I emailed my professor and explained to her my situation. After meeting with her in person and making numerous concessions to retake the exam, I was shut down. All the questions that I didn’t answer would be counted against me.
Talk about a major mistake.
I went back to my dorm room and fell to my knees. The Lord listened to my cries and comforted me in a way that only He could. While I felt that this was a HUGE deal, the Lord gently comforted me and let me know that it actually wasn’t. In light of eternity, this was actually pretty small. Although my grade wouldn’t truly reflect my knowledge of the material, it didn’ change the fact that I still possessed that knowledge.
I learned two things that day. 1) Sometimes you just need to laugh at your mistakes and 2) refuse to identify yourself by them.
Just because you may have forgotten to change your child’s diaper in a timely manner and now he/she has a diaper rash...doesn’t make you a “bad mom.”
Just because your child is regressing and is now wetting the bed…doesn’t mean that it’s your fault.
Just because your house is a mess, you haven’t shaved, and you’re finding joy in having to poop because that’s your only excuse and time to be alone...doesn’t mean that you’re failing in life.
And just because you let your child stay up way too late and now he or she is off schedule…doesn’t mean that you’re irresponsible.
Sometimes, you just need to laugh! Perfection is overrated and is never a measure of your worth, gifting, or progress. The goal is to look more like Christ each and everyday…not a Stepford wife.