I am afraid when my kids are riding in a car with someone else. I often have to actively push away worry over hypothetical scenarios where my children have cancer or my husband is given just days to live. If my girls are playing outside I can be debilitated by fear over a bug’s bite or a neighbor’s dog. 

​I am also a believer who loves God, who has given my life to Christ, and who seeks to serve Him in all that I do.

​I love being a mom. These three girls have my whole heart and I wouldn’t want it any other way. But motherhood carries with it an amount of grief that can’t always be explained. Nevertheless, I feel the need to try.  

This third time around I knew it was coming and that the monster would rear its ugly head at some point threatening my joy and taking me captive against my will. I knew what to look for, how it would feel, and what to do about it. Yet still the tears chase me down, sleep escapes me, and the air seems thin.  

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“This is our home.”
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I say this a lot these days while bent low to toddler level. Putting on shoes, getting in the car, soothing tears, multiple other times each day our littlest one says “I go home now?” Her little voice filled with hope and anticipation. 

“I go home now?”

You are not good enough. I'm sorry to tell you that.

​This world has gotten so used to speaking self-worth and instilling self-confidence that we have a society full of egomaniacs, the church certainly not excluded.

As I scrub dishes, scrapping dried cheese from another plate I am overwhelmingly aware of this truth: I am not good enough. The deeply felt significance of this stings my eyes with tears.