I'm Hannah: mother, wife, photographer, writer, artist, wellness enthusiast and lover of the simple and beautiful. I live in South Florida with my husband Manny, our three children (Seth, Isaac, and Eaden), and our golden doodle Lily.
This is my journal of motherhood, homeschooling, health, and living with grace & intention

A worthy endeavor {some thoughts on motherhood}

A worthy endeavor {some thoughts on motherhood}

I wake before my watch alarm vibrates. 5:20am.
My body has been ready to rise earlier lately. It knows the peace is what I need, I guess.

I breathe a prayer:

May I be filled up with the Spirit today.
May I love well, presently, patiently and unselfishly today.
May I live with joy and peace, not frustration or worry today.

I tiptoe out of the room where baby and husband still sleep,
into a dark and silent house.
Turn a light on.
Start the kettle.
Fill the coffee press. Inhale the roasted aroma of wakefulness.

I stretch, and sit. I read of kings and prophets.
Elisha making iron ax heads float in the river.
Wars and slaughter, adultery and power struggles.
(Most people don’t know that the Bible’s books of history rival an HBO drama in all of their bloody carnal insanity. The original GoT is right there in Kings and Chronicles.)
God refused to wipe out evil rulers in Judah because he promised David that his bloodline would lead to Messiah.
I think of what it was like to be one of these people, thousands of years ago living out their lives, likely so unaware that they would be remembered, immortalized. Unaware that they had a role in the grand epic narrative of history—the Lord restoring all of creation.

We are part of something bigger, too, yet often we forget.

I sit with all of these thoughts, and little ones start trickling in, sleepy eyes and warm bodies, wanting.
Wanting breakfast, water, the comfort of my arms, help finding a certain toy, the nourishment of my own body.

Words long to pour out of my soul onto this page
and my minds wants to continue to soak up grand things, big ideas.

But there is oatmeal to be made
and a teething toddler to comfort.
These things can feel like less, like distractions,
but they are not.
Not at all.

There is no grand intellectual splendor in the work of mothering.

But it is not less
not less spiritual
or less valuable
or less productive.

In every act of service to my children.
I have a chance to actively love.
In choosing to embrace it as worth doing, kindly and gently,
I am showing them that they are valuable.

I do not use the full potential of my mind or creativity most of the time
while I make sandwiches and give baths and help them learn to read.

But the capacity of my patience, my endurance, my ability to live love out actively.
is being stretched, and it grows.

The world doesn’t often applaud this role, but that doesn’t bother me anymore.

Nothing is wasted, not a single moment of my life raising these precious beings.
I am not producing material, visible things every day.
Not curing diseases.
Not winning and awards.
(Well that isn’t entirely true. They named me “best mom ever” at one point. I have a hand-drawn certificate somewhere as proof.)

This is absolutely the most worthy investment of these years of my life.
The return will be seen,
in their lives and my own.
I am becoming
less selfish
a finder of joy in the mundane.

So I will even put down this pen, for now, and go jump into the fray.
To teach the lessons, mediate the arguments, hold their little bodies and look right into their deep brown eyes. And yes, prepare the meals and wipe the spills (and noses, and other areas).

It is all holy.

It is a worthy endeavor.

It is right where I belong,
and I will continuously breathe deep grateful prayers to the One who has gifted and entrusted it to me.

(Scribbled into my journal early this morning, and copied here during afternoon nap time.)

When confronted with the needs and demands of my children I have a choice to make. I can either see it as an affront to my own agenda and desires, or I can see it as my main job in the current moment. Choosing the latter benefits them, but goes beyond that in also hopefully making me into the kind of person who knows what it means to truly love well and put the needs of others before my own. The miracle is that my own needs will in fact be met, probably more deeply—just not in the way or timing I originally thought. Perhaps by the end of their four childhoods I will be someone who does not get feathers ruffled when my plans are interrupted, but truly goes with the flow and attends to other humans with joy and patience. Maybe I’ll have grown by then, like Marmie in Little Women. And I pray that my kids will learn from watching me, and maybe not take as long as I to get there. So I drop what I am doing for them, holding my agenda with and open hand, trying to have the attitude I’d like them to have when asked to help in the house (because how can I expect what I’m unwilling to portray?). And then I steal naptime minutes to jot down these thoughts, because putting them into words is life-giving to my soul, and perhaps they can mean something to someone. May we see our children as worthy today, mamas. It is not only them who we are serving.

Renewed Joy in Homeschooling

Renewed Joy in Homeschooling