In an off-moment, I thought it would be nice for my 12 year-old son to come home to fresh sheets after having left on a Saturday morning at the unthinkable hour of 6:45. I was washing ours, I hate to have less than a good, full load and so I thought of his bed. Laundry is one of my favorite of all household chores, and yet I have so little compared to the baskets I used to balance. And so I threw his in while I made a cake and did some paper work. In my glory.
And then, before I knew it, the wash was all done and I did the unthinkable. Instead of dropping the pile of warm sheets on his bed for him to make up later, I made his bed. Heavenly. When I was really little, I dreamed of being a hotel maid. Simply because I love making things inviting for guests and for my family. I love making beds comfy and cozy. And so I thought about what I was doing. So uncharacteristic of me. I was coddling, doing for him what he could (and should) do for himself, meddling even; he’s certainly old enough to handle his sheet schedule and tuck in corners nurse-style But I was in my happy place. I love how tight and uniform his bed looks. I love turning down the sheets over the comforter, double-casing the pillows, smoothing and fluffing it all, smoothing the wrinkles out to the edges.
I almost couldn’t help myself and it dawned on me as I puffed his two pillows, propping them against his backboard. I was relishing the thought of him crawling into his fresh bed later that night, sheets clean with the scent of laundry detergent, imagining how cocooning it would feel come night time. Exhale. One of life’s favorite luxuries. That’s why I was doing this, because I love clean sheets and freshly made beds so much myself. I wanted someone I loved to enjoy the sensation too.
I had a college roommate who would buy all the parts but ask if I would just make the salad for her. Because it tastes better. Which is why we spend at least four times as much to have someone at Jimmy John’s or Subway make us a sandwich that we could just as easily and quickly make at home. Even the littles are on to this, requesting the other make the sandwich for them because it tastes better.
I love it when I’ve come home from a long afternoon of meetings and Todd’s got the table laden with healthy foods, chicken coming off the grill, fresh vegetables from the garden (although there’s a substantial lack of carbs when he cooks and I’m usually still hungry afterward, sigh). I could make the same thing. I do it all the other days of the week. But food never tastes as good as when he’s made it. Even when I’m at my mom’s house and she makes the same Scottish mince or roast I grew up on with boxed blueberry muffins and corn boiled in butter… it’s intoxicatingly soothing. Which is why I love being invited into someone else’s house. I don’t care if it’s pizza from a box or chicken salad croissants. I just love it when someone else takes the reins for the day and all I have to do is walk over the threshold carrying a cake. I love the finished product, the table that I didn’t have to set, the water that magically appears in goblets that I never even touched.
I think that’s what I love about a hotel room and eating out. Just that someone else has had the foresight to think through all the parts. That someone else had a hand in making an experience pleasurable for me instead of me providing it for myself.
But this is how, as a mom, it all gets a little tricky.
Because I love nurturing my family. I love it when the table’s all set, steaming dishes with nutritious fare, bread on the cutting board next to homemade jam, lettuce and tomatoes still warm from the garden, a pile of raspberries on the side, satisfactorily warming my heart.
I love doing their laundry and making individual lunches and taking some of the burden of regular life from them. I love cleaning their bathrooms and vacuuming because it all looks and smells so fresh and clean. And I like seeing it all done at once. Like it would feel as a hotel maid, backing out of a room, leaving a lingering fresh scent, imagining weary travelers coming in to a comfortable abode after a long day of play.
But if I made their lunches or made their beds every day, they’d never think to acknowledge it because they’d hardly notice. It’s cute when Avery gets excited seeing her clean laundry on her bed. Every now and then I’ll just throw hers in with mine when I know she’s got tennis and big tests and work. I love to do it. And I love how she notices. To me, that makes me eager to help her out the next time I see she’s in a bind.
And yet I’m not saying not to serve our kids or each other on a regular basis, are you kidding? How else will they learn if we don’t exemplify what we preach? But I’ve wondered what the balance is. Will they be grateful if everything is done for them? Or will they just take it all for granted and assume that’s how their life is? Are there times when we could—and would like to—pamper them but realize we need to hold back for their own good? I think so.
I think God is like this with us, willing to bless us with comforts and to spoil us with more than we can hold. And yet, He yields discerningly as he carefully considers what’s best for us.
I think we get complacent when life gets a little too easy. When we have too many treats coming in during the holidays. When someone’s always making us sandwiches. I totally take it for granted that Todd’s cooking every Sunday. Until it comes up in a random conversation or he’s got meetings all day or doesn’t feel well and can’t. And I remember how great I have it.
Some days the best thing I can do for my kids is to make them a lunch in the morning, to put Avery’s smoothie together for her as she’s rushing out the house a little after 6, to sit and watch a show with a sick kid. Most days I feel that they can handle it all, but every now and then something’s off and I sense what they need. Once in awhile, I’m happy to do their dishes for them so they can go work with their dad in the garage. Every so often I’ll buy them pizza at Costco. But I love to do it; especially when they seem to appreciate it.
But do they realize how much we’re doing for them all along the way? That dad gets up early to go to work to provide for our family, that the house is picked up and taken care of, that they have lunch money in their accounts, that someone went grocery shopping, that we have lights and heating and vehicles? And do we realize how much God is doing for us all along the way? I think we’re not that much different from our kids; we take the sun and the moon, the rain and the wind, our health and our bodies for granted so much of the time. I know He understands; we’re young, we’re still learning. Just like our kids.
And yet I wonder if He would enjoy giving us more if we would simply acknowledge His hand in our lives. I think about this with the kids. When they notice and thank us for the small things we do, a little pack of gum on their beds, when we feed the dogs for them, I’m much more likely to want to do more for them. I still want them to be responsible for their lives, to handle most of it. I would love to be more involved, but I hold back because I know it’s good for them. I want them to grow up to be gracious and humble and thankful adults. I just think God isn’t that different. He would love to give us the fulness of the earth, everything He has. But in His wisdom, He defers for a time. He blesses us almost proportionately as we humbly look to Him with thanks for what He does for us. But not really. His blessings always, always tip the scale.
We are obviously not nearly as wise as God. I’m just practicing on a very small scale as a parent. But as we try to decide when to do something for our kids, I’m beginning to understand the thought process God may have. I’m starting to see that He’s not holding back because He doesn’t love us or care or know how to help or is busy. He’s allowing us to do what we can for ourselves for own own good and growth. But every now and then He’ll shower me with an unexpected answer, a little boost, a treat out of the blue. I’ve learned that the more I look for and notice what He does for me, the more humbled I am and the more I want to serve others to pay that love forward.
So as I weigh this all out as we’re raising our kids, I lean on His perfect example. I of course would love to spoil my kids, to make their lives easy and blissful and painless. I would love them to have clean, warm sheets and a fluffy white towel waiting for them every evening. I would love for them to enjoy a life void of chores and hassles, sandwiches built to suit just for the asking with Red Vines on the side just for fun. And yet, I know from His perfect pattern, that we hold back some of this for their own good. Not because we don’t love them or care or know what they’d love, but because we do. And we know, in the end, the best we can give them as parents is a better version of themselves, men and women who have matured into humble, kind, grateful adults themselves. Who will, in turn, be wise as they discern when to serve others and when to hold back.
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