I remember asking myself Why am I doing this? as my gloved hands were rolling the rocks around in the tote of bleach water. It was Monday and I was already tired. So very tired. The previous week had been full - followed by a full weekend. There had been school, and church, and then my children had friends over all Sunday afternoon and evening. I had rested somewhat - but not given myself permission to truly check out.
Monday came abruptly with my 6AM alarm, and although I love the start of a new week and its rhythm, my body was strongly opposing it. Strongly. But, all too often we do the hard stuff like willing ourselves out of bed when the sheets are still warm and comfy. I got up, wrapped my robe around my body, and moved quietly through the dark of my bedroom to my bathroom - careful not to wake my sleeping husband.
I’m getting quite good at walking silently through the house. I selfishly wake up an hour before anyone else does so I can drink a cup of coffee and spend some uninterrupted time with the Lord. It is in those quiet, dark morning hours that I find the strength for the day. And, truth be told, it carries me. His grace - truly is - enough.
But just like flowers fade, grace wanes and that is when I normally “call it a day” and go to bed myself. And I would have - had my husband been home. But he’s been putting in some long days and late nights himself in this season; and this particular Monday night he was at the church for a band rehearsal for Christmas. My oldest, Nathan, had done a great job applying himself in school that morning and was there too. I had arranged a ride to town for him so he could be at the church during rehearsal and hang with his buddies.
This left me at home with my other three children that night. Walking quickly from one end of the house to another, I was busy folding and putting away laundry, taking things back to their correct rooms, and carrying things down to the basement. I had just ordered a pizza over the phone as the idea of cooking wore me out. I had about 45 minutes before supper would arrive so I ran down to the basement to put something away.
And that was when I just knew I needed to do it. The foul odor was beginning to affect the family room in the basement. I walked over to where the boys had their bedroom and saw that the turtle tank was in desperate need of a cleaning. Too tired to cook, I realized that I was pulling from something deep within myself to clean.
I went back upstairs for a moment and came back down with an empty ice cream bucket. Reaching into the tank, I drew out Orange - our painted turtle that Nathan had caught three years ago on a camping trip in Wisconsin. Placing Orange in the bucket, I drew my attention to the tank. The water was nasty and the smell embarrassingly bad to have in living quarters. I did my best to not inhale as I carried the 10-gallon tank into the bathroom. I dumped out as much water as I could down the toilet - being careful with the rocks.
I carefully carried the tank out of the bathroom and up all 13 basement stairs to the kitchen - careful not to slip or trip. I had already grabbed everything I needed to clean the tank successfully, and in no time at all I had the rocks and greenery soaking in hot bleach water, the filter torn apart for a good scrubbing, and the tank rinsed and doused with vinegar to remove the water stains. I was a pro! Not because I set out to be one. But that is what happens when you do jobs like cleaning turtle tanks for years and years (and years).
Orange has been with us for just a few years, but before him there have been more… There have been painted, soft-shelled, and more recent - Mississippi Maps. Every summer while camping, the kids catch one - or like this summer, 26! Donatello was the very first turtle we had ever acquired, and we had him for over five years! My mom had found him fishing one day as a hatchling and had given him to Nathan who wasn’t quite two.
I knew nothing about painted turtles and had to do a lot of Google searching in order to keep a turtle the size of a quarter alive! I acquired the necessary knowledge for turtle care and threw myself into something that my little boy took a fascination to.
Some families are into rabbits, and some are into cats. Some are into dogs, fish, or snakes. But us? (Or you could say - Nathan and I?) Well, we’re into turtles!
And for the last several weeks, Nathan had been sweet about reminding me that the tank needed cleaned. He had even taken it upon himself to refresh it. We were having a big party and a lot of his friends were coming over. I wasn’t able to get to it in time, so he had wiped down the inside of the glass with a wet rag and filled the tank with more water. It had bought us a little time, but the time had run out and his tone changed. “Mom, can you please clean the turtle tank?” he had asked me earlier that day. I told him that it was on my list for the week, but I couldn’t promise him that it would get done that day.
But tonight I was doing it and he was going to be so happy to come home to a clean tank! And as I rolled the rocks around in the hot bleach water and scrubbed the water stains off the side of the tank, I sighed again. My tired was the kind that easily crumbles us into the fetal position and cries itself to sleep at night. What I wanted most felt a long way off as supper had yet to arrive and bedtime was still another hour away.
Yes, what I wanted was to be in my king-sized bed with it’s warm blankets - but instead I was elbow deep in bleach, vinegar, and turtle muck. It was in that moment that I asked myself the question, Why am I doing this? And without delay, the answer spilled out of my heart - I’m doing this out of love!
Yes, out of love for my boy and his love for frogs, toads, and turtles, I was cleaning when I really wanted to be sleeping - or at least resting. Out of love for my boy, I was sacrificing my time and energy to do something that I knew he would not only notice - but appreciate. Out of love for my boy, I was heeding a request of his and showing value to the things that he showed value to.
And so much of what we do as mothers flows through this very filter - out of love.
Out of love we omit dairy for a year so we can nurse our baby who is lactose sensitive. Out of love we bow out of social engagements that we want to be a part of so we can advocate naps, meals, and bedtimes. Out of love we stay up late, wake up early, or never go to bed at all, just so baby can have time on the boob. Out of love we rock, sing, change, wipe, kiss, hug, tickle, snuggle, chase, and hold so we can form that unmistakable bond that we are - in fact - momma. Out of love we crucify our pride and become the mom who drives (you guessed it…) a mini-van! Out of love we turn that same van around and run back into the house to get the stuffed animal, blanket, or toy that they forgot - even though we’re running 15-minutes late.
Out of love we nurse sick kids back to health - holding back their hair when they vomit and washing poop out of their underwear when they didn’t make it to the toilet in time. Out of love we train them to use that same toilet, hang up their coat and put their shoes away, clear their plate from the table, wipe up their own mess, look people in the eye, and say “Please” and “Thank you” because we’re raising adults - not children!
Yes, out of love for our children we do the hard stuff called mothering. And we do it with patience and grace because we love ‘em!
With these thoughts I finished up with the tank and returned everything back to its proper place. I realized that joy had come over my soul and I didn’t feel as tired as I had when I first began. I was still ready for bed, yes, but grace had washed itself - once again - over my worn-out frame.
Nathan came home a couple hours later with his dad. He gave me a quick “Goodnight” and hug and went downstairs to get ready for bed. I was sitting at the kitchen bar drinking a bedtime tea and catching up on the day with my husband when I heard footsteps coming back up the basement stairs. Before he had gotten to the basement door, I told Jeremiah, “I know what this is about.”
All Nathan did was crack the door open wide enough to stick his head out and say two words, “Thank you.” He disappeared back down the stairs, yet the sweet smile on his face and light in his eyes spoke volumes - truly more than the thanks he had just uttered. Nathan had noticed that his turtle tank was clean - and out of love for me took a moment to appreciate it.