The Value of My Life

The value of my life is not written in dollars or even in cents –
Too often I have neither.
It is not written in splashy heroic deeds on a TV screen
Though heroic deeds are part and parcel of my every day
It is not written in theological treatise that will change the hearts of mankind
Though I work daily to change hearts in my own quiet way

The value of my life is written in warm pumpkin muffins on a cold fall morning
In a “love pile” on Saturday, one big tangle of arms and legs and hugs and kisses
In hours upon hours of read aloud
Snuggled with warm little bodies who always say “please read just one more Mommy!”

It is heard in little voices saying “mama I lub ju”
It is realized in the moment that a 6 year old decides to send her Christmas money to charity
Because she would rather save the lives of children she’ll never meet
Than have a new bicycle
It is the moment that a 4 year old decides to let his 2 year old sister go first because he doesn’t want her to cry.
You can see it in the sparkling eyes of a 2 year old doting over “her” little baby and being Oh so gentle – spending hours entertaining someone who can’t even talk back.

You can hear it in the sign of the Cross “in da name of da fadder, and de son, and duh holy pirit ah-men”.
You can hear it in the Litany of Saints that grows longer as each child falls in love with another Holy person who will guide them through life
You see it in a small hand clutching a crucifix when she’s afraid of the dark
And in a 2 year old leading the family rosary

The worth of my life is measured in All Saints Day costumes
And hours in Adoration with children who can’t sit still but love being there none-the-less
It is dinners delivered to friends in need with the “help” of little hands
Who often make more work than they save but who love helping others regardless.

You can see it in foam crowns carefully constructed with way too many helpers
Homemade pizza and happy little chocolate faces
Sweet little hands measuring out flour and oil and smelling all the spices
And the surprising moments when they pick up their toys without complaining.

It is a proud toddler who says “Mama I SOOO strong!”
And quiet moments holding a child who slowed down long enough to curl up in my lap
It is a balloon tearfully but willingly given to a little brother who broke his own and is sad
And it is hours of happy play when they all decide to cooperate.

It is evident in “Yes Ma’am” and “Hello …Warner residence?” and “No thank you” and the comments of strangers on their good manners
In children who seek out those who are unhappy or lonely and cheer them up or invite them along
In one million tender moments when my heart bursts with joy and pride in my little monkeys and their kindnesses

It is also written in fist fights and biting incidents
In stitches and bruises and moments that make my heart fall out of my body
In gallons of snot and long nights nursing feverish babies
It is written in blood and sweat and frustration
In one thousand and one sleepless nights … and more
And in desolate moments when I sit on the floor and sob.

The value of my life is measured in these little people that I am raising
These children who are the delight of my heart
The world will never know my name, nor care,
But it will be a much better place because of the people I am raising up
To send forth into it.