Originally posted here on my friend Abbey Wedgeworth's thoughtful advent devotional for moms. Highly recommend her blog Gentle Leading.

Her eyes reflected all the things I suspected were true: In my wrinkled shirt, sloppy bun and a cart full of kids vying for crackers, I was a walking stereotype. A cautionary tale.

Sometimes the crumbs in the crevices of the minivan and the blowout at the restaurant and the temper tantrum at Target and the forever undone to-do list join together and create a choir. The choir sings a haunting melody with lyrics that our college selves swore could never be said about us: Look at you. Get it together. You're a pitiful shadow of your former self.

Sometimes the Facebook memories of old vacations or Saturday nights join in at the chorus: Look at who you used to be. You were so fun. That dress doesn’t even fit you anymore.

It’s hard to remember who you are when each day is filled with self-sacrifice. When you spend each second caring tremendously—caring more than you could have ever imagined, it’s hard not to crave the life of your former care-free self. It’s easy to believe that growing up and becoming a mom means you’ve settled, trading your laughter, personality, and spirit for some apron wearing, spit-up covered, greasy-haired snoozefest of a life. Maybe it feels as if Jesus’s promise for abundant life is something abstract or something elusive in this season.

Although we love our families with our whole hearts, there are days when the rigors of our mothering can make us feel that something has been stolen from us, killed within us, destroyed inside us.

This melody? It's the song of a thief.

But don't you remember, mama? There's a better song, and we should sing it louder: “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. [But Jesus] came that [I] may have life and have it abundantly” (John 10:10).

Listen for it in your living room. The richest moments of your entire life have happened within those walls. May your living room remind you that joy is not a present we only get to unwrap at parties. You’ve seen it wrapped up in regularity, right here: giggles on a Monday afternoon, cuddles on a Friday evening.

Look at your hands. Oh the love they have shown, the work they have done when no one was around to see! These hands and the tasks they accomplish are your reminders of a King with a backwards kingdom: He came not to be served but to serve (Mark 10:45).

Look at these children! Jesus said the kingdom of heaven belongs to them (Luke 18:16). Right there, wrapped around your calves or hollering for juice, these children are opportunities for a kingdom view. Jesus welcomed them with open arms, and when you do, too, you are being like Him. Sure, they keep us nailed to our homes on more Saturday evenings than we bargained for, but they also usher us to the feet of Jesus every day. How often has this sticky kitchen floor been holy ground?

Because, precious one, the kingdom of God is in your midst (Luke 17:21). This right here is just as fruitful and fulfilling and difficult and esteemed of a calling as anything else. Motherhood is a holy education, where God will teach us what it's like to love and get nothing in return, where He'll teach us what it's like to serve rather than be served. And the abundant life part? The closer we get to God and understanding our place within his backwards kingdom, the closer we get to joy.

May God restore your laughter on days when you want to scowl, may he redeem fun on days when it feels like something reserved for college kids. May He call special attention to the sweet, wonderful details of your kids and your life and your home, whatever those things look like, however regular or frustrating they may appear at first glance. May He give you whatever He gave that Proverbs 31 woman and then some, laughing not just at the days to come (v. 25) but at the day at hand—real, literal, gut-busting laughter, the stuff that sounds like abundant life.

The life of Christ delivers us from that song of the oppressor and the power of the resurrection enables us to denounce the lie that motherhood is boring and stifling and at odds with a full life and your fullest self. This is not true, for we belong to a backwards kingdom, where in laying down your life, you find it (Matthew 16:25). May we sing our true song, with lyrics of abundant life and sacrificial love, and may we sing it ever louder.

See the original post for some application/reflection questions.