Two weeks ago, my husband and I took our kids to the Fort Worth Stock Show and Rodeo. For those of you who might not live near where rodeos are common, this event is a BIG deal in our area and large portions of the state. The stock show and rodeo take up several full pages of the paper each day with pictures and results of the various contests.
You know what the rodeo part means. The “stock show” part involves thousands of animals being shown, some for the purpose of being sold, and some just to win a prize. There are cows, goats, chickens, rabbits, and many others. And, of course, steers. In fact, the “star” of the stock show is whichever steer is judged near the end of the event to be the Grand Champion. This steer usually sells for almost $200,000, which goes directly to the child or teenager showing him.
But if you’re like our family, and you’re not showing any animals, you probably just enter through the front gates. These provide the best access to things other than the animal barns, such as the petting zoo, the midway rides, and the ponies on a stick. I’m not talking about those toys that have a pony head attached to a stick, where you straddle it and ride the pony all over the house. I mean real ponies, harnessed to spokes in a horizontal wheel. For a fee, kids get to choose a pony and ride it as the ponies walk in a circle, rotating the wheel. If you really want to fork over some money, the attendants will take a picture of your child on the pony. Otherwise, you can lean over the railing and do it yourself as your child and his or her pony pass by.
I can identify with those ponies. As a mom, I too feel like I sometimes go in circles, not really accomplishing anything. It seems that I’m there just to entertain the children when they want my attention. The rest of the time, I’m just…tied down. Can’t go anywhere, because the children might need me. Can’t roam free, because I have a job to do. Don’t receive much attention, except when people want something from me. Almost never get a thank you. Not glamorous, and definitely not the star of the show.
It’s easy to feel like that as a mom, isn’t it? Like what we do doesn’t really matter much in the overall scheme of things. It sure isn’t glamorous. Ask the world what it considers a glamorous job, and motherhood won’t make the list. The big money goes to those who do what society considers really important—the grand champions. Not to us. Not to moms.
In my poem “Loving Jesus”, I’ve already addressed one reason why what we do matters immensely. But I want to make a different point this time. We moms may not be the stars of the show. We’re not the ones whose pictures fill up page after page of the paper. Our jobs may not matter much, in terms of society’s values.
But we matter to our children.
If my family ever arrives at the stock show one year to find that the ponies on a stick aren’t happening, my kids will be disappointed, but they’ll find another activity to replace it. But if I am ever not present in my children’s lives for the long term, they will never fully get over it.
We matter to our children, whether they are ours by birth, adoption, or marriage, in a way words don’t fully describe. We fill a space in our child’s heart that was placed there just for us. Children instinctively love their mothers and depend on them in a way that goes far beyond what they know how to express. Sure, somebody else could change their diapers or fix their meals. But only you can touch that place deep within their souls that needs a mom, and not just any mom, but you.
Sure, there are other loving people in your child’s life who are important to your child. But none of them can replace you. God has put a need in your child’s heart for you that cannot be met by any of those other people.
You may never get your picture in the paper for being a grand champion. But you will still have succeeded in your calling, even on those days when you burn their toast. You will have mattered to your children in a way no one else can.
1 Thessalonians 1:4—For we know, [moms] loved by God, that he has chosen you.