How did you do it?
I get asked that
question all the time. Mostly by parents freshly in the newborn stage of their
second or third child. Trying to learn the impossible juggle of managing
multiple needs. Why do they think I have the answer? Because when my second son
was only 5 months old, I became pregnant with my third. No, we didn't plan it
that way. Yes, we do know how it happens. When Judah was born my oldest was 3
days shy of turning 3 and my middle son was 13.5 months old. It. Was. Rough.
First, you have to
know that I didn't do it beautifully. I was a mess. My house and my kids were a
mess. We watched more TV than I would care to admit. We didn't get out of our
pajamas a couple days a week. At one point I had to call a moratorium on play
dates. All I did was survive it. Nothing fancy. Nothing perfect. There were
countless tears and too many blowups amid the blowouts. I had to ask for my oldest
son's forgiveness several times a day. I thought I would never see it through.
That I would never be anything other than the angry, exhausted, barely-managing
mother.
I starved myself from God's Word for months before I came to my utter
end. He used an unexpected source, Instagram of all places, to encourage me
back into His Truth. I had become a spiritual baby again, and I needed some
spoon feeding. I'm so thankful for all the women on Instagram who constantly
put God's truth up to counteract the lies that fill our hearts. Then through an influence network class by Jess Connolly God encouraged me to learn to snack on his Word. I didn't have
the time or mental stamina for meals of his Word, but I began to snack
throughout my day and his Truth pulled me back into the shelter of His wings
among the storm of my life.
Eventually, I
learned to wake up with the attitude that my only expectation was that I walk
with Jesus that day. Even if no naps were managed, food came from a box,
diapers remained unchanged for far too long, and too much TV was consumed, but
I walked through it with Jesus, it was good. That's how I survived it. With
Jesus.
I came to the utter
end of myself and found Jesus. God let motherhood break me so I could
be rebuilt. Sometimes the only way to wholeness is to be completely broken. I
grew up in a Christian home, and I don't remember a time I didn't know Jesus,
but I never knew Him like this before. He sustained me not just day-by-day, but
moment-by-moment. It wasn't pretty and it wasn't perfect, but I did it. I
survived the fire. I came out refined. Less obsessed with my list but head full
of Jesus.
I sowed sorrow, exhaustion, failures, and inabilities and now I'm reaping faith like I've never known.
Now that I know Him
like that--when I've walked with him through the rough ride of the external
while managing the awful of my own sin--I'll never be the same. Last week,
after grieving for the pain of the present and future trial of my uncle and his
family from his stroke, I was still able to clear the dishes, turn on some
music, and stand at my kitchen sink, arms stretched high and sing:
"rejoice. When you cry to him he hears your voice. In the midst of
suffering He will help you sing." Because I know that. I know that. I can rejoice because I know that
all roads belong to Him. I can rejoice because He never leaves me to myself. I
can rejoice because I have suffered and He heard my voice when my cry was only
a whisper hidden deep in the dry folds of my inner soul.
He redeems the
imperfect, the simple, the subpar. His power flows through our weak and weary
frames. We just have to give up. Acknowledge that we can't do one minute of
motherhood without his power and his grace. When you reach the end of your
rope, He is the net. Fall into his redemption.
We can't survive
another minute without Him.
Sitting in the
loving arms of Jesus. That's how I do it.
