This truth came to me as I watched my son watch me get him ready for bed.
My sister came over earlier with her daughter, bouncing and spinning and ready to play, and by the time they left, my house was a mess, my kids were fussy and we all needed a nap.
I checked my phone, and she had messaged me a picture she sneaked of me with my youngest. A precious moment. Yet, my first response was — sigh, i look rough.
Hair undone, clothes messy, worn out and weighed down. It wasn’t pretty.
Then again, I traded in “pretty” awhile ago, or I should say – the ongoing attempt at it. Most of us grow up trying to be just that – pretty, and I still believe we feel better when we look our best.
However, when I stepped into Mommyhood, I quickly realized no amount of combing could keep the cracker crumbs out of my hair and the time it took to put on makeup would be better spent making up our beds.
Not to say, I don’t still try. I do. I pick out clothes and brush my hair to go out.
But most days when we are home, I don’t.
And on one of those days, someone snaps a picture of it all, and you sigh.
Until…
You get the house picked up enough not to trip, the dishes in the wash and the clothes out of it, and you hold your baby and cuddle him close before he is soothed to sleep.
And then, in that moment when the busy becomes still, you catch a glimpse of yourself through the eyes of a child.
His big eyes staring and his arms stretching around and his grin growing on his sleepy little face.
And you know — it is not pretty.
It is not pretty having to clean house and clean bottoms and always be running behind.
It is not pretty losing sleep and losing your temper and not remembering to say thank you for all the treasure you have.
And you hold on tight to God’s masterpiece, breathing comfortably in your arms, and realize —
There is something absolutely beautiful about how he reaches his little arms up for the place of comfort he finds close to your heart.
There is something uniquely stunning about how the diamond he gave you still gives you sparkle in sweatpants and old tshirt.
There is something incredibly elegant about how you can carry babies and groceries and a smile as you leave the store.
There is something undeniably valuable in how you can quiet tears and hush fears and teach that what shines most comes from within.
There is something ironic and irresistible in knowing we can strip ourselves down to our hurts and hopes, and we can be healed when we are broken together.
And it may not be pretty, not in the sense of a photo for facebook kind of way.
Yet, it is glorious and gorgeous and beautifully bare — the confident truth underneath that makes our lives happen. The truth that this – all of this life we are given – is so much bigger than just ourselves. It has purpose – and that’s what is lasting; that’s what matters.
Being a mommy isn’t pretty. Being a mommy is so much more —
Being loved, being forgiven, being accepted, being surrendered, being trusted, being used up.
Every bit of you – being used to help encourage, love and train up our most beautiful gifts.
And that is so much more than pretty, mommy friends. At the end of the day – so much more.
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