My husband came home from work one day and started sharing some incredible stories. A few of the students in our children’s ministry were placed in situations that they were given the opportunity to share about their relationships with Jesus Christ with other kids. In the first case, a family had gotten into a car accident and a family from our church happened to come upon the scene. They offered a safe place for the children who were involved in the accident and unharmed in their own vehicle with their children. The parents waited with the children’s mom who was trapped inside her vehicle from the accident. It was a very scary situation for these kids, and the children in our ministry began to share Jesus with them and encourage them. The second story, another girl in our ministry got into a conversation at school with someone who didn’t believe in Jesus. She remembered something my husband had told her one time and put it into practice. Instead of preaching or arguing with the girl she listened and asked questions. She sought to understand where she was coming from so she could show her Jesus through just listening. These stories were brought up in a staff meeting and my husband was very encouraged by the staff around him for pouring into the students and making a difference in their lives. The kids grasping what he is teaching them and actually putting into practice is incredible and it shows the fruit of the ministry.

Then it happened. The feelings came at me like a ton of bricks. This longing to make a difference. I want to hear a story that encourages me and reminds me that all my work matters. It wasn’t that I wasn’t happy for my husband, I was. I was incredibly happy and so very proud of him. But before I was a mom, I used to work in ministry and would hear these stories all the time. My boss would tell me when I was doing a great job. I was encouraged when I put all of my passion and heart into what I was doing as it was evident to the people around me. It wasn’t that I wanted to feel that praise again, to feel like what I was doing was noticed. It had nothing to do with being recognized, but everything to do with feeling like I was making a difference.

I had some big dreams before having kids. I wanted to dance in Broadway shows. I wanted to open up my own dance school and teach under privileged kids in the inner city. I wanted to write a book. I wanted to speak to women. I wanted to encourage women and young girls in their identity. I wanted to help people believe in themselves, and when no one would, I wanted to believe in them. I wanted to make a difference. There is something within the pit of my soul that desires nothing more than to make a difference in the lives of others.

But here I am. I have no tone to my body, yet the scars of carrying and birthing children. I haven’t danced in years. I type behind my computer screen in hopes that these words reach someone, but mostly just to get out what’s in my head. I wipe noses and butts. I clean up spills and crumbs. I break up fights and settle down tantrums. I play cars and cook imaginary meals. I also cook real meals too. I sweep floors, clean toilets, fold laundry, and track down messy fingerprints like nobody’s business. No one sees what I do. No one follows me around and tells me that I am doing a good job. No one takes note of the life changing things that happen to encourage me in a staff meeting. But even though all of this is true, I am doing a job that makes more difference in the world than anything else. I am raising children.


Right where I am, in the middle of changing diapers, wiping tears, cooking meals, kissing boo boos, I am making a difference. I can’t always see the difference I am making day by day, some days are hard, and some days leave me exhausted. But one day I will look back on these days and see the fruit of everything. I will one day look at my children when they are all grown up and know that I had a part in making them the person they are. I will have made a difference in the most important life I could touch.

Mama, you are making a difference too. You are right where you are supposed to be, making a difference in the most important little life. It may feel like you aren’t doing anything. It may feel like nothing you do matters. You may feel like nothing comes from all your hard work. But the day is coming where you’ll see it all. You’ll be surprised at what all your unnoticed work accomplished. So mama, keep wiping noses, keep kissing those boo boos, read that book one hundred times, and redirect those mischievous hands. Every little thing you do is making a difference. You are changing the world one little life at a time.