Notes on Motherhood

I am super exhausted from this presidential election. Amen? I hop on Facebook for a planned 5 minutes and end up spending 20 reading all the posts, updates, articles, fights. It makes my soul feel like it weighs a thousand pounds. It’s too much for me. Compassion and empathy run deep in my bones, and I long to feel and carry pain and burdens where I shouldn’t. We are an aching country, and I hate that I don’t have a clue on how to fix it.

I barred myself from Facebook until this is over. That’s how drastic I have to be at the moment. (I’ll shareΒ these posts on there, but don’t expect me to respond much from there.)

The past two weeks, myself and my boys have been riddled with the worst sickness our house has experienced to date. Rampant with vomit, fevers, diarrhea, I find myself at my wits end almost every day. Last Thursday was easily the hardest day of motherhood for me. I woke up wiping butts and didn’t stop until nap time, and continued until bedtime. I really wanted to just call it quits and call in anyone else in the world to deal with all of it. But motherhood. It’s sanctifying. Where I want to quit and where I want to be selfish, it almost always demands the better of me. Even though I squirm and complain every inch along the way.

While my boys were sleeping on Sunday night, Evan & I watched the second debate. I was keeping up with Twitter while keeping up with all the arguing airing live, and I felt so grateful that my boys were sleeping. That they don’t have to understand this just yet, and I think that’s because I don’t know what I would say to them.

Motherhood. This past month has felt like God teaching me just how little I can control. I enjoy controlling what I can when it comes to my children, their behavior, their lives. I like to believe that I can sustain life for them, which I can, but the buck stops there. Soon enough, and actually four years from now, we’ll probably be discussing the 2020 presidential election with our boys.

When my children are so sick that all I can do is hold them while their bodies work hard to defeat the fever, I feel like I am doing nothing. My uselessness feels mean, and I end the day exhausting from fighting the fears that I’m not as great a mother as I thought I was.

I’m writing this today for me more than anyone else. I’ve been doing this long enough to know that the hard seasons come and leave eventually, but I want to remember how hard and frustrating it feels in the thick of it. The way I feel is not an indicator of my purpose. The lack of control I have is not a result of my lack of ability. I want to remember this insane moment in time, where I’m watching adults behave like children, watching my children be oblivious to it all, and thinking of the time to come where I have to equip them to think for themselves. The Father is reminding me:Β You cannot control. But I am always in control. Always.

He keeps the world spinning. Isn’t that a comforting thought?


Featured photo taken by Krista Washler Photography

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