I turned the music louder to try to drown out the persistent four year old in the backseat. 

“Can I watch PJ Masks when we get home, Mom? Can I can I can I can I can I can I?” 

Again, I told him no because it was lunch time, and wishing he would be quiet, I turned the music up a little louder. This was a convicting song and I wanted to hear it. 

Casting Crowns sang about how we want coffee in our church lobby and blessings in our pockets, but we don’t even want to cross the street to help the hurting in our city.  

If we want to see hearts set free and tyrants kneel, for the walls to fall down and our land to be healed, if we want to see a change in the world out there, it’s got to start right hereeee, it’s got to start right nowww— 

“MOOOOOMMMM I WANT TO WATCH PJ MASKS WHEN WE GET HOME!!” 

I snapped around, angry, and yelled at him. “Stop talking! I’ve said no four hundred times! Just give it a rest, okay? I want to listen to this song!” Something about never watching PJ Masks again if he didn’t be quiet almost escaped but I stopped it.  

He whimpered in the backseat and the music continued. 

We’re the people who are called by His name, if we’ll surrender all our pride and turn from our ways, He will hear from Heaven and forgive our sin, He will heal our land but it starts right here. 

It starts right here.  

But not like…right here. Not actual right here. Like in this car. Right now. He means it starts in a different right here…?  

Uhh… 

Poop.  

In my rearview mirror, I could see my son’s fallen face.  

I had just yelled at my son to be quiet because I wanted to listen to a song about loving the people who are right in front of us. The irony.  

Thus it often is with motherhood. We are quick to volunteer to help pack meals at our church, we sponsor the Compassion kids and send shoe boxes full of gifts to children in Malaysia for Christmas. We’ll tithe to mission organizations and show up for the pro-life marches. But right here, in our homes?  

Often times we struggle. 

And our homes are a whole different type of mission, because we are entrenched in the hard, the loud, the endless, the spit up, the toddler poop, the piles of dishes and laundry and bills. It is not a mission we enter temporarily and leave after we’ve gotten our business done.  

Yet, as mothers, our home is the most important mission of all. 

It is where we are literally shaping lives; these tiny humans will grow up and change the world for better or for worse.  

Last night, I didn’t want to sit and eat with my kids. It was a rare, quiet dinner where we weren’t all together, I was tired, and I had some things to get done. 

But my 4 year old, persistent as usual, convinced me to come eat with him. I brought my work with me, and he didn’t give up. Eat with us, Mom, he implored.  

Okay, I decided. I’ll start right here. I put my work away and we laughed and colored rockets and ate cake and the kids glowed and I know these are the moments that are most impactful for them.  

The moments when I remember that my mission starts here, in my home. With my husband, with my kids. When I can prioritize them, and show them that they are loved even when they ripped their favorite book up in anger and I have run out of things to take away because they won’t clean their room. Even when my four year old is huffing around and slamming doors because I won’t let him watch TV (is it supposed to start this young?) and my two year old has pooped all over her bedroom floor again.  

Because that’s how Jesus loves us.  

We are our children’s first example of Jesus’s unconditional love. 

When our children are young, we can point them to Jesus or we can turn them away.  

They will grow up knowing security, knowing God’s word, knowing that there is truth and what it is, knowing that they are loved even when they fail and the answer is to run to us for help and not away from us in fear.  

Or they will grow up believing the mistake they made that one time was too much. That they are annoying and a nuisance. They may grow up knowing punishment instead of discipline and believe that they are unimportant enough that the person they look up to most of all doesn’t have time for them.  

And the lessons they learn about love and attention and what they are worth to us will stick with them for the rest of their lives, because it is the starting foundation of their view of their entire worth. 

When they are little, it is our job to show them how precious they are to God by showing them how precious they are to us.

How much time, attention, loving discipline, and care they are worth.  

This isn’t the post about balance—doing the laundry, a night out with friends, a moment to yourself all deserve their place. This post isn’t about that, and it’s not about focusing on literally nothing but our kids for years either. It’s not good to do that. 

This is just the post about our mission as mothers. 

It’s Operation Christmas Child and packing food boxes and mentoring the young woman at church, or maybe it’s none of those things. It’s whatever God calls us to and whatever we have a passion for.  

And most of all, it is always our children.  

Pointing them to Jesus. Showing them how precious they are. Teaching them that they are worth sacrifice and time and love.  

If we want to see the hearts set free and the tyrants kneel, for the walls to fall down and our land to be healed, if we want to see a change in the world out there— 

It’s got to start right here.  

If we want to change the world, we start right here. With our family. In our homes. Loving our kids.