Here we are creeping closer to mid-September, although it’s still as summer as ever in Florida. Pumpkin spice everything has found its way into nearly every store, and the malls are full of fall fashions despite Mother Nature snickering at her temps in the upper 80’s.
It’s been awhile since I have written, and I blame that on this new season of motherhood, but really, that’s just an excuse. Well, partially. The truth of the matter is that I have been so engrossed in caring for my tiny human (Shiloh) that the little time I do have to myself is usually spent taking care of things I can’t do when said human is awake. (Breath. My life has been a lot like the length of that sentence lately.)
I digress. . .
I read a blog this morning that a friend of mine shared. It was titled, You’re not Failing, Mama. I don’t feel like I’m failing, but I will read it. It was a great read (I recommend you read it), and it left me feeling inspired to say the least. Fast forward 10 hours, after I’d raised my voice in frustration one too many times at my one year old, and left him in the nursery to explore for two minutes when I heard the cries. He was just playing with books near the closet!
Hubby was in there in a flash while I rinsed my soapy hands off at the sink and hurried in there. “Did he fall off of the glider?” I asked in a panic. We then came to the conclusion that he likely pinched his tiny fingers between the back of the glider and the window sill when he had climbed up on it. “It’s always something!” I huffed as I returned to scrub spaghetti residue from his highchair tray, while hubby consoled my sobbing son.
I scrubbed and scrubbed, soap bubbles foaming and water pouring as I felt water of my own fall warm and wet down my cheeks. And then a thought crept in— I failed my son today. The tears continued to fall, and my inner dialogue went off the beaten path.
I’m not cut out for motherhood. I can’t do this.
I thought back to the blog I had read earlier today, and thought it was crazy that when I have never considered myself a failure of a mother before, I know laid in a puddle of my own tears on the couch feeling as though I lacked qualifications for he job.
Enter hubby after putting Little One down for bed (part of Shiloh’s reaction was the fact that he was tired, or at least that’s what I told myself). He asked me what was wrong, and the floodgates opened. “I failed my son because instead of protecting him I was concerned about spaghetti stains on his highchair tray!” (Insert sobs and sniffles here.) He laughed, saying that this sort of thing is bound to happen. However, I didn’t feel better.
I laid there, tears knowing no end, engulfed in this season of motherhood that has come like a flood. My son is now a toddler, and he is growing more independent. And I can’t control everything he does. He is bound to get hurt. And my heart can’t handle it. I am too sensitive—too sentimental for this mothering gig. Jesus take the wheel!
I look at large families and tell myself that it must not be that bad because they keep having more! Hubby and I love watching “Bringing Up Bates,” a Christian family of 19, but even Kelly Jo and Gil (the parents), get super emotional at the fleeting moments. But time marches on.
Thank heaven for the hope of glory in Jesus Christ! I need to constantly remind myself that this world and everything in it is fleeting, but for those who are of the Christian faith, death isn’t the end of the story. No, it’s really just the beginning! I also need to constantly remind myself that children are a gift from the Lord, yet they ultimately belong to Him. Although I want to grip my son ever so tightly, I need to hold him loosely.
I glance at the baby monitor and see my precious child rubbing his face sleepily as he rolls over and hugs his lovey. “For Jamie (In D)” by Allie Paige streams from my phone making this moment all the more special. A smile creeps across my face as I am reminded that God doesn’t call the equipped, but He equips the called.
The love I have for my son is only a fraction of the love that God has for me—for you—for us.
Oh how fragile life is, but the One who hung the stars, the One who changes the seasons, the One who forms life in the womb, holds us in the palm of His hand. Thank you Papa, that while the seasons of life may change, You are the same yesterday, today, and forever. Thank you for your never ending, never failing love.
Here is a song I added after the fact because a friend of mine, Bobbi Blanchard, shared it in a recent blog post she made about seasons that I just came across! It seems many of us mamas are on the same page. Thank you sweet friend for reminding me of this gem. ❤
What “changing season” are you currently in? Are you a new parent? Empty-Nester? Have you started a new job? I’d love to hear from you.
“But you, O Lord, are a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness.” -Psalm 86:15