When I was a little girl, all I wanted to do was be a mom.  I had copious baby dolls whom I loved and nurtured.  I mothered my younger brother.  And when my BFF was blessed with a new baby brother, I was super excited.  She.was.so.lucky.

As I grew, I babysat and just generally enjoyed small children.  And then I began my short lived career as a music educator.  And my three and four year old students were the absolute joy of each day.

So it was logical that when I became pregnant with my first child I was in seventh heaven.  And I had some very definite ideas as to how my life would change.  I had visions of what motherhood looked like.  I’m not going to lie.  I thought it would involve lots of sunshine and roses and bunny hugs.  Puffy clouds and picnics and dandelion fluff.  And long afternoon naps and lazy Saturday mornings.

As.  If.

I’m sure it comes as no surprise to any mom out there that my experience looked not at all like that.  And honestly, that’s probably the understatement of the century.  Because I was absolutely unprepared for a baby who didn’t read my birth plan and a lack of sleep that messed me up for years.  For c-sections and thrush and baby’s allergy that caused me to give up dairy for  more than  a year.  For post partum depression and utter despair.  But also a love that I couldn’t explain and a joy in things so small, I’m not sure others noticed them.  But oh, the work. The drama.  The laundry.   There were days where I wondered how I’d get through the small things.  Where I simply gave every single thing I had to give and found myself lacking.

I’m not going to apologize for this but I’ve found an utter freedom in my days now that my girls are older.  I’m simply not a good baby mom.  Crisis parenting for wee ones is not my forte.  And who am I kidding, when my beloved daughters say the word “butt” for the 957th time today and fight about everything including the paint on the wall, well that’s hard too.  I’m not sure if I want to sell them to the circus or run away and join it myself.

But it is in the midst of those days when that still small voice enters in.  And He reminds me of His love, love that is simply imperative, especially as I must impart that love to my daughters.  Both as a mom and as a daughter of Christ myself.

“Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, come with me.  See!  The winter is past; the rains are over and gone.  Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come….”  (Song of Solomon 2:11-12)

When I’m empty, He fills me up.  When I have not another thing to give to my family, He goes ahead of me.  He reminds me that I’m His cherished possession even when my daughters don’t do what I think they should and I feel like a failure.  Because He is my everything and He meets me in the middle of my deepest need.

My God meets my deepest need.  Sometimes I forget that He both asks me to cast my cares on Him and to allow Him to bear my burdens.  I try to do it all.  To be the best mom I can.  But on my own, I’m unable.  I fail and I feel small.  With God, I can do all things.  That’s His promise.  I take comfort in that.

And let me tell you, I’m clinging to it.  Because either these girls are going to stop saying “butt” or I’m going to lose my mind!

This is all I have to give.  My best.  Handed over to my Father.  With his blessing over us.

I’m His dear one and so are they.  And that is my peace.