That season. The season where you can barely find the time to run a brush through your hair on most days. The season dependent on "coffee saviors" and instant macaroni dinners.
The season when you can only find the time to muster enough strength to just crawl through your day. You know, the strength that you gained from two hours of combined sleep that you must ration throughout your day. Yeah, that.
I've lived in this season for nine years as motherhood has multiplied faster than I can keep up with.
Sometimes you just do that day. You don't even know if you accomplished anything of worth during that time, except for just survival.
You don't have time to include God in the day. You just don't. Yeah, everyone gets the same amount of time...it's what we do with it that counts. We've all heard that before. But when you're swimming up current, the rapids fill your mouth with water as you scream for help, your arms waving and you push and push and push through, but you never clear the rapids. It's so incredibly hard. Motherhood is unforgiving and brutal.
We can't hear God when we're screaming and flailing about. We are so tired and weak, but it seems the respite never comes. It never comes. Until God breaks us.
It hurt so badly. I'll go ahead and say that I thought I was doing it right before. I thought that thinking about God during motherhood was enough. After all, how was I supposed to be expected to consider and co-parent with an invisible being?! I could barely recall the last time I saw my keys or if I had paid all of the bills every month. Those things are tangible. That was my normal. My "mommy brain" ruled my life and I got used to the "fogginess" that settled.
When He broke me this year, I thought "wow, really? Motherhood is hard enough, God. This is the last thing I need right now. Go away!"
I became bitter and kept trying to desperately glue those broken pieces back together on my own. Only I wasn't staying together. I kept falling apart. I realized that only God had the right glue to fix my brokenness. There were too many teeny tiny pieces to mend. Pieces that I wasn't equipped to piece together on my own. I really can't do motherhood alone. It is, indeed, too much for me.
And as for Supermom, well, she's been murdered. RIP, old girl. You weren't serving me well, after all.
So, I decided to cling to Him. My heart, replaced with His. His thoughts, my thoughts. His will, my will. His strength, despite being exhausted and no more equipped to face the day than before, became my strength. And so on, and so forth.
So now we dance through every moment of everyday. We are finally co-parenting these children He loaned to my care. His children. Not mine. Never, ever mine. Remember that. These children are not yours. Never.
I fall, several times a day, in fact, and I feel His strong arm, the strongest arm there ever was, gently lift me back up. "Keep going, daughter. I love you. You have Me here with you. We can do this together. These children are worth the struggle." And sometimes, I don't know the steps to this dance at all. In those moments, I simply put my feet on His and allow Him to dance for me.
He's right. These daily "in's and out's", "high's and low's" are worth every "dragging-myself-out-of-bed" days. They're worth all of the "I don't wanna" days, and days that begin with meltdowns instead of "good morning, mommy"'s.
The struggle of motherhood will always be there. It will always be waiting for us each and every day He offers us. But it's better to always consider yourself broken, than to live thinking you're wholly complete on your own. Save yourself the trouble and just grab His hand each and every day.
He must be the center of our motherhood. No one is Supermom. But He is greater. He's always a better dancer. He knows all of the steps. Allow Him to lead you.