“When I was a child, I spoke and thought and reasoned as a child. But when I grew up, I put away childish things. Now we see things imperfectly, like puzzling reflections in a mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely. Three things will last forever – faith, hope and love – and the greatest of these is love.”  I Corinthians 13:11-13 (NIV)

“It’s all relative.”

Everyone has heard this statement. Most of us have even said these words at one time or another. But what does this phrase really mean? Is it some sort of “filler” – thoughtlessly said in one’s attempt to find what it is he or she really wants to say? Perhaps it’s some sort of gauge – like when one thing is compared to another. “I thought the workload in college was tough. Then I became a mother! It’s all relative.”

I’ve said this myself and even more so lately. Our two sons, now teenagers, are very independent. They are self-sufficient. I tease them often, saying, “You could get an apartment tomorrow! Do you even need me anymore?”

Of course they do. But they can make their own lunch. They can do their own laundry. I think one of them, when asked the other day how he’d done on his math test, even responded, “It’s all relative, Mom” (in this case, definitely a “stall” tactic!).

And then came the newest member of our family – our two-year-old little girl. We met her on a Wednesday. The following Saturday, she came to our house and has never left – and all just several weeks ago. She’s changed our lives… our perspectives. Funny how a toddler can cause one to take a step back and reprioritize.

For example, until recently, I showered daily. While doing so, I chose whether or not to shave my legs and my armpits. It was my choice. I had the time. Did I want clean legs and hairless underarms? If it mattered to me, I took that extra time. Otherwise, “Just don’t look!” was my motto.

Now, I’m just hoping to get my teeth brushed each morning. I have to pause mid-day and ask myself if I’ve showered (thank goodness for the “sniff” test!). And just the other day, I actually looked in the kitchen utensil drawer for the remote control (who knows? I have half a brain and a toddler on the loose!). I find myself thinking back to “The-Way-Things-Used-To-Be” and saying, sometimes aloud, “It’s all relative.”

Last month, we had smudge-free glass doors, neatly arranged magnets holding photos on the frig, and fairly odorless garbage in the trashcans. Frequently now, I look at those glass doors, grab the Windex and paper towel, but then stop and think, “How cute those little hand prints!” The Windex and paper towel are returned to the cupboard. I have ABC magnets framing even more fingerprints on my frig, and… “Eew! What’s that smell coming from the trashcan, Mom? We need a ‘Diaper Genie’!”

“It’s all relative,” I think to myself.

Now, my “quiet time” is usually anything but quiet. But when I’m praying and pause to listen to God’s voice, and I hear our little one singing “Jesus Loves Me” quietly from her perch on our bed, I’m reminded that God speaks in many “voices” and that “out of the mouths of babes comes wisdom” (Matthew 21:16). “Quiet time”… it’s all relative.

Being a mom is a tough job, no doubt. Having others rely upon me for food, clothing, and shelter (I do write the mortgage check, after all!) is a big responsibility. Sometimes my husband and I ask ourselves, “What did we do before kids?” We have no answer. Maybe that’s because college was over 20 years ago, and if it’s after 8 PM, we have no brain. College was, indeed, tough. Parenting is tougher. But it really is relative.

For all the fatigue, missing remotes, fingerprints on chrome, and toxic odors over the years (do they make a “Teenage Tennis Shoe Genie”?), there really is no other job I’d rather have. Being a mother brings me joy beyond words, despite crow’s feet and gray hairs. At the end of the day, when I lay my head upon the pillow and I’m the little girl saying bedtime prayers, I pray,

“Thank you, Kind Abba, for enabling me to do Your will today. You don’t call the ‘equipped.’ I know, ‘cause I had no idea how to handle the whole ‘puppy in the potty’ incident. But You do ‘equip’ those You call. Thank you for keeping Frodo from drowning and for the blow dryer. Oh, and for giving my child a contrite heart… for her sincere, ‘I sa-wy, Momma. I not do dit a-din. Po-mise.’ Help her to keep her promises, and help me to guide her and our precious boys toward their eternal purpose – to love You with their whole hearts, minds, and souls and to love others. In Jesus’ sweet name.…”

Sometimes I don’t even make it to “Amen.” Yet, as my eyes grow heavy and one day passes into the next, I have faith that He knows even the unspoken words of my heart, and I hope to be reminded, even in my dreams, that this earth, too, will one day pass away, and Heaven will be revealed. Then all the practical cares of this world – as well as the smudges, the disorder, the stench caused by sin – will no longer matter. Compared to the beauty and perfection of Heaven and seeing Jesus face to face, all else will fade away.

After all, with Love, it’s all relative.