Being a mom on a regular Thursday was hard enough. Mom in the middle of a global crisis with civil unrest on a Thursday halfway through a year that has been nothing except uncertain as we plan for school in 2020-21?!? Yup. Bizarro. Overwhelming. Crazy. To the edge. Wish we could just get off this ride. Bye.

I mean, no one taught us how to mom in the first place. We just sort of absorbed it from the people around us, our own childhoods, instincts, the Holy Spirit… and we figured it out.

And then 2020 happened. And everything we felt good about before… we had to take and throw like confetti at the worst party ever. So long goodbye everything I was certain of.

That’s parenting in 2020.
That’s being a mom this year.

And it’s a lot. It’s a lot for all of us. It’s new and scary and weird and who even knows what we are supposed to do anymore?

But I need to say this. Listen close. All of those things you’re feeling? We are all feeling them. All of those things you’re worried about? We are all worried about them. All of the ways you are just trying your hardest to figure it out and keep your kids safe? Yup. That’s us too.

But just in case in the middle of all the crazy you haven’t paused to address the toll this is all taking on your mental and emotional health? That’s what this space is for right now.

If your heart needs a minute for someone to say, “WHAT JUST HAPPENED AND ARE YOU OKAY?!” This is your cue. This is where you take a minute to say to yourself and your momma friends, “We’ve been through a lot. Haven’t we? This has been rough, but we are figuring it out like we always do. Cuz that’s just what moms do. We figure it out.”

Here’s the best news, friends.
Ready? We get to the other side of this thing, God has seen the other side of this season and walks us as someone who knows the way forward… and loves us.

You’ve got Him. And You’ve got us.

Cheers, momma. Deep breath.

“It sounds like you got a lot done,” she said.

But I didn’t feel like her words were true.

I wander around my house and there is continual proof that I can’t keep up. I can’t always keep up with the dishes. I can’t keep up with the laundry-covered guest bed (even when I promise myself I’ll do one load a day.) I can’t keep up with the kids’ bathroom that looks like a truck stop by the end of the day occasionally. I can’t keep up with my creative projects or the discipline/instruction of my children or the maintenance of my marriage or the bathroom counter clutter or the refrigerator that keeps emptying or the mail pile that might have a pink reminder to pay something.

I can’t keep up with what I promise the kids we will do or what I promise myself I will finish or what I started when I had motivation and gave up on when motivation took a lunch break and then called it a day. These little memorials of my inability to keep up feel like mile markers on a marathon that I just can’t finish.

My husband wonders why occasionally I will snap or fuss or bark about something that seems so trivial… and it’s usually because these daily reminders of all I have to do add up, shouting from each corner of my life, “You don’t have it figured out.”

When I add to it this desire to not only be the woman who has it all together, but the woman who can photograph her all-togetherness so that the internet has record of her success…

Can we just not?

Can there be some sort of official club for the women doing their stinkin’ best with laundry everywhere? Can there be a support group where we stand next to one another, look at the work and say “Man, you’re in charge of a lot… I bet that’s hard.” And then can this imaginary everyone’s welcome group make it our official mission to say to each other, “You’re not a failure. You’re not falling behind. You’re not a disappointment. You’re not the only one.”

Because there’s this book called Hope Unfolding where the author (oh that’s me ?) reminds the members of this come as you are motherhood club, “Jesus is there with you. See him take the guilt and the frustration in the feelings of inadequacy. And then in a beautiful exchange, see him replace all of the heaviness with hope.” And that’s some Truth strong enough to silence the lies that we will never be enough. Right?

I have this memory from when my kids were little… they had spent the morning playing with play doh and coloring and reading and dragging out all of their toys and FIGHTING. There had been tons of fighting. I had my four month old on my hip as I put away the dishes when my oldest two (three and five years old) came running through the kitchen.

“Sissy has what I want!”

“No! You can’t have it! Bubby, it’s miiiiine.”

I started with simple reasoning. “Let’s all play nice together…” Which was pretty much the equivalent of just staring at them. And then I tried pleading with them. “Please stop. Just quit fighting. Hey. Guys. GUYS!” And then, I tried threatening everything from early bedtimes to personal calls to Santa if they didn’t stop teasing each other. But as one of them caught the other and shirts were being grabbed and the toy was being wrestled over, I hollered, “That’s it! JUST Stop it! Both of you!”

And they quit fighting, froze, and looked at me for about fifteen seconds in silence before beginning to cry and pleading their case.

I remember feeling like the world’s worst momma for making them cry.

I was emotionally and physically exhausted. I was stretched thin and pushed to my limit. And while I remember getting down on their level and apologizing for raising my voice rather than calming separating the two of them and listening to them individually, somehow the memory of what I did wrong always seems most in focus when I look back.

The World’s Worst Mom.

Have you ever thought those words? You know, I bet moms think it more often than we realize.

When we’re the last mom to pick up our kid from school, or forget that it’s show and tell day, or picture day, or everyone wear red day. When the baby gets ahold of the baby powder, or the toddler finds the permanent marker, or the preschooler finds the scissors and plays hairdresser. When just want a minute alone rather than with a child in our lap, or when we wish we could get that snuggle time back as our kids grow. When we worry our kids have too much screen-time. When we feel like we haven’t connected emotionally to our grown children like we should. When we realize that there are virtually no photos of our second child’s first six months of life. Or just about every time we log onto social media and read about some other “good mom” moment.

The thought, “You are the worst mom ever,” flashes through our mind, and we believe it. We fear it. And sometimes, we joke, as if to take back the power of those words, “Gosh. Am I the world’s worst mom or what?”

But even our playfulness doesn’t hide the reality that under it all we are afraid it might actually be true. It’s what the Enemy of our motherhood wants us to believe. Why? Because if he came make us feel guilty or ashamed or discouraged, then he can steal our hope. He can kill our confidence. He can destroy our view of ourselves, and this? This doesn’t just steal or kill or destroy us… it hurts our families as well.

But do you know what?

Repeating lies a million times still doesn’t make them true.

(I’ll say it again just in case you missed it.)

REPEATING LIES A MILLION TIMES STILL DOESN’T MAKE THEM TRUE.

We are moms who might have hard moments, but we are also moms who sing bedtime songs, and cuddle babies after nightmares, and drive to a million practices, and create a place for our families to gather for dinner, and check homework, and make the doctor’s appointments, and prepare for our kid’s future, and drive around moody teens, and go in to check on our kids night after night just to make sure they are tucked in and warm. We are moms who love with out limit, holding nothing back.

The truth is, what you are is normal. A woman with a great days and not so great days. A woman with great moments and not so great moments. A woman who tries her hardest and loves her family fiercely (whether they notice or appreciate it or not). What you are is a woman who cares whether or not she is doing a good or bad job, and that… that means you are definitely not the world’s worst mom. You aren’t even close. As a matter of fact, YOU are a good mom. Even on the hard days.

So, Lord, today we pray for the momma who has believed the lie that she is a bad mom. She has let her not so great moments define her. She has focused on all she has done wrong, but, Lord, You see how hard she tries and how much she loves her kids. Help her hear Your voice reminding her of all she does well. Help her see herself the way You do – a good mom who is trusting You to help her each day. Push back the fear in her heart and give her peace and confidence in it’s place. We ask in Jesus’s name.

It’s 12:36 a.m., and I’m the only one awake in my house. I had to wait until everyone was asleep so I could sneak presents in from the car. I have a feeling this won’t be the only night this week that I stay up well-after everyone else has gone to bed.

There are just a few days left until Christmas, and for us mommas that means we only have so many hours left to cross everything off our lists. We all have lists. You have one. I have one. And while we each have different things to do on our lists, the words we write across the top would likely be the same.

Make Christmas Special.

That’s the aim, and the heart behind all that we are doing. We want to make memories, and celebrate Jesus, and teach our children gratitude, and have surprises under the tree. We want to gather our family and eat a meal together and experience joy. Expectations are high. I understand. There’s a lot of pressure.

Christmas is hard for us mommas because we care so much about how everyone else experiences it. We care about the gifts and the memories and the joy because deep down, we just want our children (no matter their ages) to know they are loved. We want them to know that we love them and that we did our best to show them.

It’s why we will stay up late wrapping and cleaning and prepping and installing batteries in toys and putting together bikes and play houses. It’s why we will hunt for that one present they really wanted or we will look for extra room in the budget to buy any presents at all when money is tight. It’s why we choose our kids before our own wants again and again.

It’s all because of love.

But here’s the thing. I know how momma’s hearts work, and I know that no matter how great the gifts or how hard you try… on Christmas Eve, you will wonder… “Is it enough?”

Did I do enough? Will they know they are loved enough? Is what I can offer this year enough?

Lean in close, because what I need to tell you is very important.

It is enough.

You did good this year. No matter what is under the tree or isn’t under the tree… No matter what you are eating, or who you are visiting, or how you are celebrating this holiday… No matter how clean or decorated or festive your house is…

no matter what this Wednesday brings…

Deep breath with me? Okay… maybe one more…

They will know they are loved – and at the end of the day, that is likely thanks to  you.

As you stay up late the next few nights finishing all of the things on your list, repeat after me. “It’s enough. It’s enough. It’s enough.”

Good job, momma. In case no one tells you… very good job.

She was on the other side of the wall in the next room. I couldn’t hear what the nurses were saying or her husband or friends. I couldn’t hear what words her family might have spoken to assure her. I couldn’t hear the calm words of the doctor or the likely beeping of the baby heartrate monitor. But as if she was directly next to me, I heard her scream…

I don’t think I can do this!

I lay my head back against my own cool hospital pillow trying to remain calm as I waited for the medicine to quiet my own steady contractions. At just 30 weeks, my youngest was just not quite ready to arrive – even though my body was convinced otherwise.

Alone in my own room, I prayed for her – the woman on the other side of the hospital wall.

Lord, help her.

But even as I spoke, I knew that He had already answered me. I knew that He was with the woman in the next room, because He knows…

We can’t do motherhood without Him. None of it.

We can try. Lord knows sometimes we try. We can give our best, and we love our best, and we can be our best, and sometimes there are moments where we still feel like we come up short.

There are still really hard moments where we are faced with impossible circumstances – circumstances that cause us to cry out again and again, “I don’t think I can do this!!”

I don’t think I can do this – says the pregnant woman in labor.

I don’t think I can do this – says the woman placing her child for adoption.

I don’t think I can do this – says the woman leaving her baby as she goes back to work.

I don’t think I can do this – says the mom of the defiant toddler, or preschooler, or teenager.

I don’t think I can do this – says the mom who watches her baby drive off for the first time without her.

I don’t think I can do this – says the mom who helps her baby send off college applications.

I don’t think I can do this – says the mom who moves her daughter into her first apartment.

I don’t think I can do this – says the momma who gives her son to his new bride.

I don’t think I can do this – says the mom who has to keep going and doesn’t know how she will find the strength.

And yet through each of these moments, the Lord walks beside us and whispers a steady, “But I can.” It is when we let His can help our can’t that we realize it was never up to us to do it on our own.

It wasn’t even an hour later that I heard the baby cry. A nurse or relative or someone had opened the door letting that precious sound escape and echo down the hallway.

And I thought of the momma.

She did it.

And I suppose that’s the hope that is available for all of us.

Just when we thought we couldn’t, just when we were sure that there was no way we ever could, we discover that we had it in us all along. Because we have Him.

I don’t know what can’t you’re facing, but whatever it is, remember this with me. Each can’t you overcome becomes a sentence in your heart that tells the story, “She did.” And just when you are sure that you can’t handle it… that it’s too big for you… that it’s too impossible or you’re not strong enough or equipped to face it… Remember that you were never designed to do it alone.

Deep breath, sister. Now push. You can do this.

He had watched his older brother and sister stand on the front porch for their first day of school photos for years. He knew exactly what he was doing Monday morning when I said, “Okay, let’s take a picture before we leave for Pre-K.”

He tucked his arms into his Batman back pack and with his brand new blue shoes and his happiest smile and silliest pose, my youngest proudly took his place on the porch as the last baby I will send off to school.

I could write an entire book on all of the thoughts that went through my mind from the moment I snapped that photo until the moment he came back through the front door… All the questions… all the praying… all the wondering and wishing and celebrating and mourning.

But there was this one thought that I just couldn’t shake. As I looked at the pictures of him on my phone I wondered,

“Did I enjoy him enough? Did I enjoy the time I was given?”

All of the endless days that seemed to drag on forever full of picking up the same messes, and making the same meals, and washing the same clothes, and having the same little smiling face following me around all day… were just over.

And I knew that I would miss it, Heaven knows that they all tells us we will miss it… but NOBODY… NOT ONE PERSON… told me that on the day I sent my baby off to school I would issue myself a test with one question and a pass/fail grade.

“Did you enjoy the time that you were given enough?”

Because if someone had told me, I could have prepared. I could have cataloged all of the happy moments in my mind. I could have bookmarked them and highlighted them and made sure they were well-documented. Because I know we had plenty. We had days at the park and moments playing on the floor and happy memories of trips to the store.

But on the morning of the test, all the good is nearly impossible to remember. Suddenly, all you can think of is every time you were too busy to play, or said, “Just a minute” for far too long, or didn’t have it in you to read one more book or watch one more performance of hopping on one foot.

All you can think of are the moments you should have enjoyed more.

And that’s exactly where the Enemy of our hearts comes roaring in, seeking to devour our joy.

“It wasn’t enough. You didn’t do enough, love enough, care enough and now it’s too late. There’s nothing you can do about it. Your time is over and you’ll never get it back,” Guilt taunts.

But I have learned this. The scales naturally tip toward guilt because it’s heavier than grace. But that doesn’t make it true.

You and I were there for all of it. We did enjoy it. Yes. There were plenty of days where we just barely made it, where we survived and hoped for a better tomorrow. But moments of love were tucked into those days, as well.

I have a feeling this isn’t the last time we will issue ourselves this test. Perhaps as they get their driver’s license or go off to college, that test will slap itself down in front of our hearts and demand, “DECIDE. RIGHT HERE. RIGHT NOW. DID YOU ENJOY ALL OF IT ENOUGH?”

And so from here we get to prepare. We have the chance to take notes and catalogue in our memories of the times we hugged them longer, and breathed deeper, and soaked up their smallness. We can take mental snapshots of the moments they wrapped their arms around our necks and said, “You’re the bestest Momma ever.” We can record within ourselves the walks around the block and the times we pushed them in the cart at the store and every time they yelled, “Look at this, Mom!”

Don’t forget how great you really are, Mom. Don’t forget how much you really loved them. Because it was enough. It’s always been enough.

You passed.

Jax, my three-year-old took a nap the other day – something he hasn’t done consistently in over a year.

Consequently, he was up late. At about 10:00 pm, after books and stories and sitting with him, he said, “Momma? Remember when you used to hold me? Remember when you used to get my pillow and blankey and hold me and we’d rock?”

A memory. The days when I would rock him already seemed like a memory to my little guy.

I thought about his brother, now eight, in the top bunk above us. When was the last time I had rocked him? Held him in my lap? Wasn’t my oldest just this little?

They were all right, you know.

All those moms that said it would go fast… the ones I hated when I had three crying children in the grocery store and they were looking at my life through some happy lens unavailable to me at the time… As much as I wish they weren’t… they were all right.

Did I even recognize the last time as it was happening? I didn’t. I didn’t know it would be the last time that my oldest son would climb into my lap and I would get to rock him to sleep. I didn’t realize any of the last moments as they came and went.

But there in that dimly lit bedroom, I realized fully that there’s a last time for everything, and I thought back to all of the other moments gone forever.

“Buddy, do you want to sit in Momma’s lap?”

He smiled, grabbed his blanket and pillow and we rocked back and forth on his bed.

It used to seem like so much work – moments like these. Moments when I’d rather be sleeping or taking some much-needed time to myself. Moments when the mental load of everything I was carrying felt like so much work that I just wanted to a break more than I wanted to snuggle.

After all, in just a few hours they’d be up needing me again… there’d always be more of these moments… at least it felt that way.

If only someone had pointed out the ones I’d miss most camouflaged in the chaos of just putting one foot in front of the other… then I might have been able to grab onto them. I might have paid closer attention.

Because the advice to love it all seemed impossible. The advice to hold onto all of it seemed like one more thing that would make me feel like I had failed.

So, friend, if you’re in the same place. If you just can’t focus on what you’ll miss because you’re too busy wishing they were just a little older, hold onto these moments…

Hold that clean baby after his bath all lotioned-up and in his fresh jammies five minutes longer. Smell his sweet head. Kiss it softly. Put your cheek against his fuzzy hair.

In the morning, when your baby girl wakes up and calls you from her crib, I know you’ll be exhausted, but remember what she looks like standing there… waiting for you.

Make note of what they look like running around the house in their diapers.

Commit to memory what their little arms feel like around your neck when they are 2, 3, 4… Hugs change at every age.

Take a mental snapshot of them running out of school at the end of the day because they’re so excited to get back to you.

It would be a great tragedy if we didn’t stop to remind ourselves that there is an expiration date on the joy tucked into the routine of today… but it would be an even greater tragedy to not look forward to joy of tomorrow because we are so busy missing what has passed.

Friend, there is still so much to look forward to… and while we might not be able to love all of it, we can ask the Lord to highlight the moments where someday we might wish we had held on a little longer. And then we can make the choice to love what we have right in the middle of it.

Tonight, I’m starting by rocking my three-year-old to sleep… just because I can a little bit longer.

So, we pray for each mom reading. The ones who wish they could go back and the ones who wish they could move forward. We ask the Lord to comfort each heart. And for those of us in it, we ask the Lord to highlight the moments where we will wish we had held on a little longer. In Jesus’s name we pray. Amen.

I had this mission. Lose all the baby weight. It seemed like a simple goal. Nursing helped. Watching my sugar intake helped. Eating healthy and getting exercise… it all helped. Even though I should be clear that my version of exercise is chasing three kids around. Well, two and a newborn. I have this friend who runs marathons and jumps over fire in those extreme obstacle courses. She’s awesome. Her version of exercise and my version of exercise are two completely different things.

But in my own way, on my own schedule, I eventually lost all of the baby weight. But the day that the scale finally showed the number that it did before I had kids… the mirror had evidently not gotten the memo. I remember standing there looking at myself confused.

“Wait. The scale says that I weigh what I used to…. So why don’t I look like I did before?”

The weight was gone, but the girl in the mirror looked nothing like she did before she carried and birthed three babies. My heart sank a little.

Motherhood changes us. It just does. It changes us in every beautiful and powerful way. We suddenly have the ability to love like we didn’t know was possible. We have the strength to keep going despite complete exhaustion. And we have the determination to always do what is best for those we love so passionately no matter the circumstances.

But it also changes us in other ways. Our priorities, our friendships, our marriages, our relationships with those around us… and our relationship with ourselves – some better, some worse, motherhood changes all of it.

I have realized this. While I thought I was just trying to get back to how I looked before I was pregnant, I was really looking for who I used to be before I had a baby.

To be honest? There are days when I don’t really know this version of me. This mom lady. She’s new. She does a lot of things that I said I would never do, she sometimes showers less often than I ever thought she would, and she drives a van. But the truth is?

My goal shouldn’t be to find the “me” that was lost. My goal should be to make friends with the woman that I have become. To embrace her for who she is. Scars and all.

Because even though she is different, she is worth knowing. She is worth being kind to… She is worth loving.

And while my body will never be what it once was, I have decided this,

My scars and changed self serve as a reminder of the Great Love that sacrificed His own body. Who bore His own scars. Whose body was broken that we might have life. I suppose great love always requires sacrifice. But if His love has taught me anything, it is that the sacrifice is always worth the gain.

So, friend? Your body might not look like it once did. But it tells the story of love. And there is no story more beautiful than that.