What is God’s will for you right now?
As an undergrad converting to Catholicism, I spent a more than typical amount of time contemplating this question. I loved giving retreat talks on vocation and discernment, and I took more than one course in Ignatian Spirituality. At one point, I even pursued a certificate in spiritual direction – before my master’s program unceremoniously cut that certificate halfway through. Clearly, that was not God’s will for me.
Even now, after most of my life’s major elections have been made – I’ve chosen a spouse, decided to have children, stepped away from work outside the home, begun homeschooling – even now, the question of God’s will remains elusive. Or rather, its answer is deceptively simple.
It’s easy to get caught up in daydreaming about how I may be called in the future. Although God is present in the future, I am not. I am only here, in the prosaic present. The much more relevant question for me to be asking myself is “What is God’s will for me today?”
And I kid myself a little when I imagine the answer is hazy. The uncomfortable truth is that the answer is clear; it just isn’t as glamorous as I would like it to be.
More often than not, God’s will for me today is a sink full of dishes and a bottomless basket of laundry. And like my 8-year-old, I often respond to these duties with a huff and an eye roll. There are so many More Important Tasks I could be doing. Except that assessment doesn’t match up with the upside-down hierarchy of the Kingdom.
As mothers, we are feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, instructing the ignorant, and counseling the sorrowful. As we broker peace and administer mercy, we are – according to Jesus – blessed (Matt 5:9). St. Paul instructs us, “Whatever you do…do it for the glory of God,” (1 Cor 10:31). Whatever the work, we are to become living sacrifices, to give all that we do as for the Lord, and to give cheerfully (Romans 12:1, Col 3:23, 2 Cor. 9:7).
How often am I cheerful as I strip the sheets again in the stages between potty training and potty trained?
God’s will for us isn’t something in a far-off land, some great mission we have to accomplish (unless, of course, you have been called to foreign missions work, in which case, God bless you!). For most of us mothers, His is here in our homes and in our daily duties. It is being love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, and self-control to our husbands and children.
Just because the square footage is small doesn’t mean we shouldn’t see our homes a mission field. We can resolve to honor St. Paul’s instruction to “pray without ceasing” by gently drawing up sheets neatly, offering the menial task for the good of the tiny heads that will rest on the pillows. We can iron stubborn wrinkles out of our husbands’ shirt collars as we pray for their witness in the world and spiritual leadership in our homes. We can endeavor to receive these menial and thankless duties as they are: gifts from the Lord, fuel for the slow burn of the refiner’s fire meant to purify our restless hunger for accolades and accomplishment, leaving nothing behind but shining humility.
As the saying goes, we can practice gratitude when we greet baskets full of laundry; they mean we have been gifted with children who have clothes to wear. A sink full of dishes means we have plenty to eat. A floor that demands mopping beneath our feet means we have a roof over our heads.
And yet, sanctifying the housework means more than simply being grateful for it. It means seeing our duties not as drudgery, but in the divine light with which they have been appointed to us.
Our children and our home are gifts, but they are also not truly ours.
These gifts are His, and their careful care is our mission.
Whatever job we could be doing out there in the world is a position that would undoubtedly receive many applications, a role that could be filled by any number of competent individuals.
Our children have been given to us and no one else to mother. He has asked us to match their socks, cut off their crusts, and bless their foreheads as we tuck them into their covers each night.
Jesus assures us that whatever we do to the least of these, we do unto Him. How does it change our perspective if we imagine that it is Christ for whom we are setting a place at the table?