Loving Well

As a mom, one of my main goals of each day is to love my kids.  It sounds simple enough, but it can actually be a bit challenging.  At any given moment in which I find myself with the opportunity to show love to one of my babies, I am faced with the following obstacles:  loving that particular child in a way that speaks to their heart (speaking their love language),  not competing with the other three children for that child's moment with Mommy, and have the oomph and energy to do it with the right motives.  When I'm able to love that child well, even if for just a few minutes, they walk away a little taller and a little more confident and I feel a stronger connection with them.  It's definitely worth the work.  My love is making a difference in that little person's life.  But sometimes ...


There are days when my kids seem to be pouncing on my every nerve ... at the same time.  These are the days when it’s harder to see that my love is making a difference or whether it’s getting lost in the busy-ness of making meals, cleaning house, taxiing kids and wiping noses.

• Did I give those instructions to “wash up for dinner” in a loving manner, or in a “just get it done” fashion?  
• Did I tuck that little one into bed with loving tenderness, or did I just go through the motions so I could get out the door?
• Did I snuggle my little one enough today ... speaking her love language of touch?  
• Did I sign that lunchbox love note from the heart, or did I just do it because it’s expected?

Gratefully, God knows my heart (both my desire to love my kids well and that I'm stretched pretty thin some days) and He gives me little snapshots of proof that my kids are absorbing the love I give them.

The evidence of my love is in the quick hug at the kitchen sink and the, “Thanks for dinner, Mommy” ... from my independent nine-year old boy, no less.

It’s there in the chubby little smile and out-stretched arms of my two-year old in the morning after a good night’s sleep.  Even if bed-time the night before was a bit of a wrestling match.

It’s there when my five-year old reaches up to hold my hand on a walk, and doesn’t want to let go when we get home.

And it’s there when I find that my seven-year old daughter stores up her many lunchbox love notes in the pocket of her backpack to read again.  And again.


Thanks, God, for my kids ... and the opportunity to invest in their little lives.  Help me to love them well.