Reflection 41: Holy Work in the Kitchen

One thing my husband and I decided before we ever had kids was that we would do everything in our power to make their food ourselves.

Now, let me say this first: I know not everyone has the time for that. Some days I don’t feel like we do either. But we decided to make it a priority. And yes, it is easier said than done.

The first time I really stood in the baby food aisle and read the labels, I was stunned. I expected to see “green beans, water.” Maybe a little salt. That’s it.

Instead, I saw ingredients I couldn’t pronounce. Additives that didn’t feel necessary. And the shelf stable puréed meat? I just couldn’t do it. If I wouldn’t eat it, why would I feed it to my baby whose brain is developing faster in that first year than it ever will again?

Their little bodies are growing so rapidly. Their brains are forming connections at lightning speed. I wanted what went into them to actually be food. Real food. Whole food.

So we committed. We decided we would make it ourselves.

And I won’t romanticize it.

There are nights I am peeling sweet potatoes long after I want to be sitting down. There are moments my hands cramp and my wrist aches because apparently both of my children are obsessed with sweet potatoes. Of course they are.

I peel them. Dice them small so they cook faster. Boil them in salted water. Drain them. Mash them. Let them cool. Portion them into little glass containers. Into the freezer they go.

We do the same with carrots. Apples. Pears. Sometimes I mix apples and pears because one child prefers one and the other prefers the opposite — because children are never copy and paste.

Right now there are mangoes on my counter getting perfectly squishy because they’re next.

It is work.

It takes time.

It would absolutely be easier to grab something ready made.

And that’s exactly why, for me, it feels like sacrificial love.

Not because jarred food is sinful. Not because other moms are doing it wrong. But because sacrifice, by definition, costs you something.

It costs me time.
It costs me comfort.
It costs me a little sleep.

But love is costly.

Christ did not love us in convenience. He loved us in sacrifice. And while peeling sweet potatoes is obviously not Calvary, motherhood gives us these tiny, hidden opportunities to choose love over ease.

To choose effort over efficiency.
To choose intentional over instant.

There is something deeply humbling about standing at a stove, boiling carrots, knowing no one will applaud you for it. No one will see the freezer containers lined up. No one will praise the mashed sweet potatoes.

But the Lord sees.

And my children are nourished.

There is something grounding about taking a whole sweet potato and turning it into nourishment for your child. It slows me down. It reminds me that food does not have to be complicated. It reminds me that God created real things to sustain our bodies.

I want to say this gently: I am not judging any parent who does it differently. A fed baby is what matters. We are all doing the best we can with the time, energy, and resources we have. The Lord does not measure your motherhood by whether you puréed the carrots yourself.

But for me, in this season, this is one small way I practice sacrificial love.

If you’ve ever thought about making your baby’s food but felt overwhelmed, start small. Make applesauce once. Or pear sauce. Replace one meal a week. You don’t need a complicated system. You just need a pot, water, and a little time.

Consider this your sign.

Motherhood is full of conscious choices. Choosing patience. Choosing gentleness. Choosing to praise Jesus when you’re exhausted. Sometimes choosing to peel the sweet potatoes instead of choosing the faster option.

It’s not about perfection.

It’s about stewardship.
It’s about intention.
It’s about love that costs something.

And in this season, this is one small way I’m trying to steward what’s been entrusted to me.

If you want to join me, come on. It might be a long ride in the kitchen — but we’ll make it holy.