Barefoot in the silent kitchen, the warm summer breeze danced in as the night sky darkened. My house was quiet and I was packing lunches for three sweet boys. Careful to put in just the right balance between healthy foods and things they would eat. I get this feeling packing lunch for them is my way of loving them while I cannot be with them. I love them in how I cut their sandwich just so, how I pack only a certain brand of cheese crackers and how I write smily faces on their ziplock bags.
In the coupon cutting, the starting of the crockpot in the early morning, the folding of clothes and baking of muffins I am loving them. In the filling out of field trip forms and ordering of school books. In the worrying how they will adjust to school and if they will make friends. In the 2am rocking and changing of wet sheets. The kissing of boo-boos. In the things no one can see but must be done.
Sometimes I feel invisible in it all.
Standing there, barefoot in the kitchen alone.
Sometimes only God can see the heartfelt love that I put into my family.
Sometimes, that is enough.
He sees me.
Knowing He is standing right next to me, cheering me on, giving me medals of motherhood while I do the mundane. Knowing He is stirring up all sorts of deeper and deeper love magic in these unseen things. Knowing those unseen things, the ones done in unclothed devotion and love, are often the ones that matter most. The quiet places where He whispers, "I see you loving them. I see you."
Whether your husband, kids, friends, or the Internet see what you do and praise you for it or not does not matter. Those things done out of a heart of love, servitude and grace in the quiet places are those things that fill us the most. Seen or unseen. Heard or unheard. Alone or surrounded.
He sees, He hears, He is standing right beside you this very moment. He is for you. Your silent cheering section. Let that be enough.
Honestly with love,