This, Too, Is Kingdom Work
Some days, I look around my messy house and wonder if any of this counts as real kingdom work. The laundry baskets overflow, the noise can feel overstimulating, and there’s an endless trail of toys I’m sure I just picked up — and the toddler tantrums? They test every bit of patience I think I have. There are no name tags, no companion transfers, no big numbers to report. Just me, a sink full of dishes, and a heart that wants so badly to get this right.
I used to think having strong faith meant doing big, bold things — traveling to faraway places, preaching to crowds, all those moments you read about in the scriptures. And sure, those things are good and needed — but now I know that sometimes the biggest work is right here in the small, ordinary days with the people who call me Mama.
I never served a full-time mission with a name tag and a companion. Sometimes I used to wonder if I missed out on something important — that chance to go out into the world and share His gospel in a big, official way. But over time, I’ve come to see that God still gave me a mission — it just looks different than I imagined. Motherhood is my mission. These little ones I get to love and teach every day — they’re my sacred assignment. This is my everyday chance to share Jesus, right here at home.
He calls us to sit on sticky kitchen floors and tie shoelaces with love. He asks us to kneel beside beds and whisper prayers over tiny bodies that don’t even know how much they’re teaching us about trust. He invites us to share the gospel not just with strangers across the globe but with the children we hold close every single day.
I once read that motherhood is a “divine stewardship.” But lately, I like to think of it as my most ordinary mission call — the one the Lord knew would shape me most. Because isn’t that what a mission really is? It’s a chance to show up every day for someone else’s salvation. And sometimes, that someone else is the child pulling at my skirt, the pre-teen testing every boundary, or the tiny baby who just wants Mama.
Sometimes I think about how Jesus washed dirty feet. How He fed hungry crowds and blessed and knelt with children no one else would see. He didn’t turn away from the ordinary or the mundane — He stepped right into it and called it holy ground. So when we’re buried in laundry and sticky messes, we can pause to remember — this everyday chaos is exactly where Heaven meets us.
They don’t know all the doctrine yet. They just know that Mom loves Jesus enough to talk about Him at breakfast. They learn to pray because they hear me pray. They learn to repent because they watch me mess up and apologize. They learn about forgiveness, faith, and grace in the simple, everyday ways I do my best to live it — imperfectly, but honestly.
The world might not applaud the quiet faithfulness of a mother. There are no medals for kissing boo-boos, playing referee, reading bedtime stories, or surviving utter exhaustion that never ends. But Heaven sees. Heaven knows. And one day, I believe we’ll look back and realize these little moments were the big moments all along.
And the best part is — Jesus meets us right here, too. He’s not waiting for us to finally have it all together or for the house to be quiet and clean. He meets us in the tears, the sweat, and the bone-deep tiredness of parenting. He’s there when we’re up at 2 AM with a sick baby, when we’re wiping down high chairs and sweeping the floors for the hundredth time, when we’re whispering desperate prayers under our breath because we feel like we’re failing. He’s with us, too, when the teenager slams the door, wrestles with their testimony, or struggles to figure out who they are — when our hearts ache and we lie awake at night begging Heaven to help them find their way. He’s in the middle of the mess with us — reminding us that He sees, He knows, and He cares about every unseen thing we do for the little souls He’s entrusted to us.
So today, if you’re wondering if the constant meltdowns, snack crumbs, sticky hands, the irritating attitude, the never ending “to-do lists”, and carpool lines matter — they do. He sees you. He knows the weight you carry. And He is so very near in the ordinariness of it all.
You’re not just raising babies. You’re nurturing hearts. Shaping souls. And maybe — just maybe — that’s the holiest mission call of all.