If I keep my house spotless and dust-free,
And deliver crisp starched shirts and clean white socks,
But do not show love to my family,
I'm just another housewife.
If I cook well-balanced meals, pack delicious lunches,
And prepare gourmet holiday dinners with all the trimmings,
But do not show love to my family,
I'm just another cook.
If I sew gorgeous window treatments,
With matching fringed pillows and coordinating wall coverings,
But I do not show love to those who live therein,
I am just another interior decorator.
Love puts down the dust cloth to hug the child.
Love rubs a back, kisses a bruised knee, and bandages a skinned elbow.
Love colors a picture, plays cowboys and Indians;
Listens to endless stories over and over again.
Love is patient and kind, though tired and frazzled.
Love doesn't envy anothers child who never seems to misbehave,
Or get puffed up on the one occasion when hers doesn't.
Love doesn't try to impress others with her abilities or knowledge as a mother.
Love doesn't yell or swat but disciplines with control.
Love doesn't feel cheated because Mommy didn't get to do what she wanted to do today ~
Scrapbook, read, or soak in a hot tub.
Cook, clean, and love.
But the greatest of these is love.
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