I was at Smith's and I had just hefted the car seat onto the shopping cart. I wiped down the parts of the cart with an antiseptic wipe that I or Jemma was likely to touch. I squatted down, carefully as not to hurt any still sore muscles or wounds from the delivery three weeks ago. I fished out my grocery list from my absurdly large diaper bag. It was written on the back of an ABC tracing practice page. Jemma had traced A through E with a blue crayon.
Then I had the most wonderful experience. It was neither sought after or contrived. It just came. As I unfolded the list, I had the most clear impression of how much I do as a wife and mother is not a thankless job. Many images ran though my mind at once. The time I've spent helping an emerging reader sound out the same words over and over. The third round of teaching ABC's to the third child. The extra effort I put in this week to make a healthier grocery list and not throw any old sugar-junk thing in front of the kids. The midnight trip to the store to get medicine for my fevered husband. The scriptures read at the table while I made a peanut butter sandwich for the cold lunch. I felt acutely how much my Father in heaven notices my efforts. I felt so loved and so gratified. I squatted there at the basket area and cried for a second.
Sometimes it's easy to feel like we run from task to task. No one notices. No one cares. We mop the floor and a dog runs in and does a lap around the table with muddy feet. We bathe, we comb, we correct, we listen, we cook, we wash, we tidy up. There is no glamour in these things. It won't land us on the cover of any magazine. Honestly, I have wondered from time to time when I'm very tired, what's it all for?