“Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes.”
Be honest. Are you singing?
This iconic, theatre ballad we all know and love is best sung belted solo and attempting all parts and harmonies while doing the dishes at 8PM for the 80th time since 8AM. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do.
In all seriousness though, in case the “I did the dishes 80 times today” didn’t give it away, five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes was literally the length of today.
“How do you measure. Measure a year?”
Or in this particular case, a day. Because as today comes to a close, or at least turns to night, measuring what was and will still be accomplished is awfully difficult. What I know is yesterday blurred into today with another sleepless night. I changed a lot of diapers, wiped and sucked a lot of snot out of sick noses, checked a lot of temperatures, washed and boiled a lot of bottles, played a lot of dolls, read a lot of books, and gave a lot of kisses.
“In daylights, in sunsets. In midnights, in cups of coffee. In inches, in miles. In laughter, in strife”
I bet you’re really belting it, now.
But that’s pretty much it. My day started way before sunrise and I will see midnight with my sick babe. I drank way too much coffee while clocking miles around my house. I laughed at the good, and I cried at the strife. I didn’t get a pat on the back from the boss when I went above and beyond. There are no meeting notes or press releases. And I certainly did not get paid a hefty salary for an eight hour day plus overtime.
The daily call to selflessness through motherhood and the challenges that fill a day, are often immeasurable. This is why we can feel we accomplished everything, yet nothing. This is why when our dear husbands asks about our days and what we did, we look around at a loss for words. That is why we lean on fellow moms. That is why this is just a plain hard job.
Saint Teresa of Calcutta said, “It is not how much we do, but how much love we put in the action that we do.”
So… “Measure in love.”
If we stop measuring our days by the immeasurable tasks that consume it or the tasks left undone, and start measuring in the amount of love within the walls of our homes, we would be amazed.
Because the love we have for our children, and the love we give is immense. It’s overwhelming. It’s unfathomable. It fills every second of every day. And it’s why we will wake up and do it all again tomorrow. And all the days after.
“Seasons of love.”
So whatever season of mothering you find yourself in today, do yourself a favor. Measure in love, and forget the rest.