Doing God's Work

My husband's job involves quite a bit of travel, as he works in international development for a Catholic organization.  He's fortunate to pursue a vocation he loves, and his work will, God willing, help improve the lives of some of our world's poorest.  It is good work, special work, hard work.  The travel is especially taxing, on both of us, on his fatherhood, on our marriage.  I would say it is the biggest challenge in our marriage these days, especially since the arrival of our precious Pearl.

A colleague of his once told me, I think in an attempt to make me feel better (!) about his travel: "Just remember, he's doing God's work."

Oooh, it stung.  It was a few months ago, and it stings me still, following me around on the days he is gone, nagging me, whispering in my ear.  It made me feel like I was supposed to step aside, clear the way, let this heroic knight go into battle.  It made me feel passive, and I didn't like it, that he actively helped the poor, sacrificing through hours at the airport, poor conditions, great puzzles and headaches, and I passively helped the poor by sacrificing the profound assistance of my husband, his companionship, my peace of mind when he was gone.  Yes, I do the bedtime routine alone, weary from the day, and I worry for his safety, and, like today, take the darn car in to the mechanic alone, completely  illiterate about what might be wrong with it.  Is this how I help the poor?  Is this how I do what Jesus asks us to do?  By putting my chin down and muscling through the week without my husband?  I don't know, maybe in some way.  Maybe I ought to be more humble and selfless.  I think there is something special, in fact, in making these sacrifices in a quiet way behind the scenes.  I need God to help me be more generous.

And the other obvious reaction to the above statement is this:  My husband kicks up dust and sleeps on a cot in a humid climate, makes wonderful plans, works on the "groundfloor" of development.  I, well, you know, I grind up yet another round of food for the lip-smacking Pearl.  I rinse the diaper out in the utility sink and throw yet another load into the laundry.  Let's see, I vacuum, when I get around to it.  I wipe down the counter, dust the table.  Um, oh yes, it's winter time, so I shovel, and shovel, and shovel.

I don't need the world's approval.  I'm happy to hide a bit in the walls of this house, putzing about.  But I sure do want God's approval.  And I sure do hope that what I'm doing is his work.  And I know this isn't glamourous, and I won't claim its importance, but I do hope it is GOOD.  And by being good, might it be of God.  And even if only the little Pearl is the recipient of my floundering attempts at motherhood, might my work be ENOUGH.

We cannot measure in the world's terms.  Even though his colleague claimed GOD's work, she was measuring that work in HUMAN terms.  In quantity, and in breadth of impact, in visibility, and in success.  But Blessed Mother Teresa reminds us, "You have not called me to be successful.  You have called me to be faithful."

So Lord, look kindly upon me.  Strengthen my efforts to raise my child in your light.  Bless all our work, no matter where it is, or how it is done, that it might be good.  Help me to wake tomorrow and do it again, not for anyone to notice, but for your eyes alone.  Do not let me succumb to the world's measurements, but let me store up my treasure in heaven, that when I die you might say, "Well done, good and faithful servant."