Life of Service

At MOPS today, the speaker spoke about the five love languages of children.  I've been big on the love languages for a few years, but never really figured out my kids.  I was excited to hear this talk and find better ways to connect with each of them, but what I got out of that talk was something completely different.
At one point, she mentioned how once you find out you are pregnant for the first time, you have signed yourself up for a lifetime of service.  Say, what?!  She continued to say how everything that we do for our kids and in our house are all acts of service.

::light bulb::

My primary love language is acts of service.  I don't care if you spend quality time with me... in fact, I enjoy my alone time.  I don't rely on physical touch, meh.  Gifts are nice, but they don't spark anything particularly deep within me.  Words of affirmation *do* really hit home to me, actually.  I thrive on being told that I am doing well... or that it's noticed that I'm trying.  I'm my own worst critic and can be particularly hard on myself, so when an outside source tells me that I'm doing alright, it's pretty huge for me.  Along side words of affirmation is acts of service for me.  If you help me out and I really truly appreciate it.  You are lightening my load.  That is huge for me.

So when the speaker correlated that my entire life as a stay at home mom is lots of acts of service, unending acts of service, it completely flipped my perspective.  I know how it feels to receive acts of service.  They are not insignificant.  Also, acts of service often aren't easy.  I always wondered why keeping up with meals, and laundry, child rearing, and cleaning felt so hard... because each and every one of those is a service to my family.

Getting Emily up in the morning and getting her dressed: service.

Feeding the kids breakfast: service.

Packing June's lunch: service.

Laundering their clothes: service.

Planning meals: service.

Food shopping: service.

Helping to put on an Iron Man costume for the 735,357th time: service.

Checking on a child in the middle of the night because they made a funny noise: service

Wiping butts: service.

Driving June to and from school: service.

Putting butter on one piece of toast, but butter and jelly on another, and only jelly on a third: service.

Putting away "too-small" clothes and bringing out the "fits-now" size: service.

Picking up toys: service.

Zipping up a jacket: service.

Sitting with Josh when he is scared at night: service.

Vacuuming: service.

Doing the dishes: service.

Taking the time to put Emily down for a nap: service.

Sitting in Elizabeth's room to ensure she falls asleep: service.

All of these mundane, "need to be done," tasks are all acts of service.  Instead of thinking of all these are just things on my plate and getting resentful when I feel worn down and like I do more-than-some... (Ok, tell tale moment, sometimes... often... I feel like I do more-than-most, truth be told, but I might not be right... I could work AND juggle all this!  There are times I feel like I give a LOT though and there are times that it's hard for me to stay pleasant about it.) Regardless, instead of feeling bitter and overlooked, I can see each of these things as a gift to my family... as an act.  As something purposeful.  Not something that I have to do, but something that I choose to do because it keeps my family running efficiently.   These tiny, routine, boring, sometimes unpleasant little things are acts of service that keep life moving.  *I* do that.  Pretty cool.