There was a time when I thought my greatest acts of worship happened with a microphone in my hand.
After all, I’m a worship leader. I’ve spent years leading congregations in song, teaching the Word of God, and encouraging others to lift their voices in praise. Those moments are beautiful, sacred, and deeply meaningful.
But somewhere along the way, God gently began teaching me that some of the most profound worship I would ever offer Him wouldn’t happen on a platform.
It would happen while holding a baby.
One Sunday, I found myself singing background vocals, 26 weeks pregnant, and while simultaneously trying to stay on key, watching my oldest daughter dance in worship, helping my seven-year-old with his Magna-Tile masterpiece in the pew, and negotiating with a toddler who felt deeply called to escape the stroller in the middle of service.
All the while, I was silently praying, “Lord…please don’t let a ‘SIT DOWN!’ accidentally hit the microphone.” I laughed to myself.
But if I’m honest, there are moments in motherhood when you feel stretched in a thousand directions at once. Not fully focused on ministry. Not fully focused on your children. Not fully focused on yourself. You’re simply trying to faithfully hold all the pieces together.
As I stood there worshiping with one hand on my microphone and one eye on my babies, I sensed the Lord whisper something to my heart: This too is worship.
Worship is not just the singing, but it is also the serving, the mothering, the sacrificing, the staying faithful when no one notices. For so long, I thought motherhood interrupted worship. Instead, God showed me that motherhood was revealing it.
The apostle Paul writes: “I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.” (Romans 12:1, ESV)
A living sacrifice. I’ve often thought about how unique that phrase is.
Unlike the sacrifices of the Old Testament that were placed on an altar once, a living sacrifice climbs back onto the altar every single day.
Motherhood has taught me what that looks like. It looks like interrupted conversations with God because a little voice suddenly needs you. It looks like diaper bags packed alongside your Bible. It looks like worshiping from the back row because little legs can’t sit still for an hour. It looks like choosing faithfulness when no one is applauding.
Some Sundays we’re in the back, not because we’re less hungry for God, but because toddlers get restless, snack cups spill, and whispered reminders to “use your inside voice” become part of our worship experience.
For a moment, it can feel like everyone else is encountering God while you’re simply trying to survive the service. Then one Sunday I looked over and saw my twelve-year-old holding her baby sister. Both of their hands were lifted toward heaven, and suddenly the Holy Spirit reminded me of something I desperately needed to hear, “Children don’t learn worship because they always have the best seat in the sanctuary. They learn worship because they’re watching us.”
Our children are watching us come anyway. They’re watching us lift our hands even when life feels heavy. They’re watching us choose the presence of God when convenience would tell us to stay home. They’re learning that Jesus is worthy, not because life is easy, but because He simply is.
While studying 2 Chronicles 20 recently, one small detail leapt off the page. “Meanwhile all Judah stood before the Lord, with their little ones, their wives, and their children.” (2 Chronicles 20:13, ESV)
Before the victory, the battle plan, or the miraculous deliverance of this chapter, the children were already there. God could have recorded only the leaders who gathered that day, but instead, He intentionally included the little ones.
Why? Perhaps because the next generation wasn’t meant to simply hear about God’s faithfulness someday. They were meant to witness it.
Our children don’t have to understand every sermon to learn how to seek God. Nor do they have to know every worship lyric to recognize surrender. They simply need to be brought near.
But God hasn’t only used my children to teach me. He’s also used His Church.
Not long ago, while I was serving during a worship service, another woman from our church quietly held my little girl. Someone else snapped a picture just as my daughter lifted her tiny hands toward Jesus. That image stopped me in my tracks. Not only because my daughter was worshiping, but because another sister in Christ had made it possible.
She packed extra snacks for a child who wasn’t hers. She lovingly cared for my daughter so I could minister. She modeled worship right beside her. And I realized something I had spent years resisting: We were never meant to do this alone.
Sometimes God’s love looks like holding someone else’s baby. Sometimes it looks like making room for another woman to serve. Sometimes it looks like carrying a burden you didn’t create simply because love does that.
Those quiet moments rarely receive applause. There are no standing ovations for the woman changing diapers in the nursery. No spotlight shines on the grandmother praying faithfully behind the scenes. No headlines celebrate the friend who brings a meal, holds a baby, or sits beside a weary mama in the back row.
But heaven sees.
I wonder if those hidden acts of love are among the sweetest offerings we place before Him. The world often celebrates what happens on the platform, yet God delights in what happens at the altar of everyday obedience. Whether you’re raising children, caring for aging parents, serving quietly in your local church, showing up for a hurting friend, or simply remaining faithful in a season no one else understands, know this: Your worship is not measured by how many people see it. It is measured by the One who receives it.
Some of the holiest worship you’ll ever offer won’t happen with a microphone in your hand. It may happen with a child in your arms, tears in your eyes, a whispered prayer while folding laundry, and with a quiet “yes” to God when no one else is watching.
Because sometimes the greatest love offering we can bring to the LORD isn’t a perfect song.
It’s a surrendered life.
{If you enjoyed this blog post, you might also like this episode of The Love Offering Podcast, where Rachael chats with Shalene Roberts, author of When Mothering Is Hard and No One Sees. Her words touched so many hearts because she gave voice to something mothers often feel but rarely say aloud: “Does anyone see what I’m doing?” You can listen to the episode here.}
About the Author:
Sara-Marie Puopolo is the founder of Soul of Worship Ministry, where she encourages believers to deepen their relationship with God through biblical teaching on worship, praise, and spiritual warfare. She serves as a worship leader at her local church and is the author of “WORSHIP: Are You Making a Sound?” and “Gathering the Spoils of War.” As a wife and soon-to-be mother of four, she is continually discovering that some of the deepest acts of worship happen in the ordinary moments of everyday obedience.
