Sweeping crushed crackers off the floor, getting stains out of small clothes, supervising my children’s play in the backyard—these types of tasks make up the majority of my day as a mom of two young kids. I often question whether this mundane work is significant. It can be easy to slide into thinking I need to get through the daily tasks of motherhood so I can get back to the “real work” of Christian living.

But when I consider how the Westminster Shorter Catechism defines our purpose—“Man’s chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever”—it strikes me that it doesn’t prescribe any particular context or list of practices.

All the mundane moments of our days, wherever we are and whatever we’re doing, present opportunities to glorify God and enjoy him. And yes, this includes building LEGO, rocking a child to sleep, and making a toddler’s peanut butter and jelly sandwich just the way she likes it.

But connecting the catechism to our lived experience can be difficult. That’s where I’ve found help from liturgy. Historically, the word “liturgy” is synonymous with the order of worship in a church service. Liturgy is the creeds recited, the songs sung, the prayers offered, the Scripture read. But there’s also a more informal concept of liturgy we can employ as we direct our hearts and minds to God and lift our souls in worship amid the regular routines of our days. Liturgy in the form of written prayers can help us reframe common scenarios we navigate in the little years and see them as opportunities to glorify and enjoy God.

The following liturgies are meant to be used as prayers for the everyday-ness of motherhood, that we might steward and redeem our mundane moments as occasions for worship.

Liturgy for a Messy House

When used burp cloths and pump parts litter the counter space, when the toddler seems to enjoy dumping and scattering the toys more than actually playing with them, when the dishes remain piled in the sink and the floor remains unswept, might we glorify and enjoy God by learning to look to him as our source of peace?

I feel I cannot rest
while my house lies in disarray.
But how is it, Lord,
that you could sleep
in the chaos of a storm?

You slumbered deeply in the boat,
surf raging around you,
water pooling at your feet,
and dreamed on.
Amid the turmoil all around,
you knew the words of God
would be stronger than the waves—
“Peace! Be still.”

Command me just the same
so that, even surrounded by mess,
my heart can close its eyes
and rest. 

Might we glorify and enjoy God by learning to look to him as our source of peace?

Liturgy for Playtime

As we engage our kids with crinkly baby books, building blocks, and baby dolls, could we begin to see playtime as an opportunity to reflect on the parent-child relationship and what it shows us of the Father? To worship God for the infinitely greater way he condescends to us?

Here, on the floor,
I lower myself to occupy
what is sacred ground,
this space where
exploration
imagination
and resiliency
are born and nurtured.
God, ignite awe in my heart
for the wonder that abounds
in this time of play. 

This moment between parent and child
is reflective of the reality
that you too, Lord,
stoop low
and enter my world
day after day,
guiding and providing me with everything I need
to learn and grow.
You see all that lies before me with sovereign eyes,
yet you meet me where I am
in this day,
in this stage,
with patience
and delight. 

Liturgy for Sick Days

“But we were just sick!” we so often say when we see that runny nose or feel that hot forehead on a little one. Discouraged, we prepare to enter back into the abyss of sleepless nights and homebound days. But might these sick days be an occasion to depend more deeply on God, and to serve not only our kids but the Lord himself?

Here, in a cascade of used tissues,
shoulders wet where a runny nose and
weepy eyes have laid,
in the midst of sleepless nights and weary sighs,
I cry out, “Bring healing now!”
But should you choose a different way, this I know,
my stream of sorrow
is engulfed by the ocean
of your compassion
for us both.
Lead us gently, Lord,
lead us on,
for I cannot do this alone. 

Be the strength beneath my arms.
Be the breath behind my song.
Be my light when the night is dark.
Be my joy when the day is long.

O power that sustains,
you are with us in this place.
For you have said whatever care
is given to the least of these
is really care for two.
What great honor it is, my King,
to wait on you. 

Liturgy for When Your World Feels Small

Mom, I pray your heart begins to trust more deeply that the little years aren’t the lost years. These years are ripe with moments to glorify and enjoy God and thus are rich with purpose. For the times you doubt it, here is a final liturgy to remind your heart of what’s true.

When the scope of my daily roam
lies often within the corners of a home,
and the majority of my influence
extends to the lives of just a few,
I can wonder if these days are
scant with significance.
But I do well to remember that scale
translates differently with you. 

In your kingdom,
the widow’s offering of two pennies proves
more extravagant than any other, and
the one lost sheep found
justifies a lavish party, heaven-wide.
You even liken the kingdom itself
to a mustard seed,
the smallest of all,
that is, until the age of darkness passes,
and it resurrects from the ground,
shooting forth into a tree large enough
to shade the garden and
house birdsong. 

What eternal harvest
will grow from my humble cultivation?
I know not.
But in faith, I tend to my outpost of heaven,
trusting that whatever your presence fills
is larger still
than even the most sweeping dimensions of the universe.