I didn’t know then what motherhood would ask of me.
I didn’t know the places it would stretch me.
I didn’t know the stories I would carry.
I didn’t know the diagnoses, the hard seasons, the healing work, the letting go, the starting over, the surrendering, or the amount of grace I would need just to keep showing up.
Back then, I thought rest meant holding a baby close and letting the world slow down for a minute.
And honestly?
Sometimes it was.
There is something deeply tender about those quiet moments when the house is still, the baby is warm against your chest, and for just a little while, nothing else needs to be fixed.
But I didn’t know Jesus then.
Not like I do now.
I didn’t know that one day, the kind of rest I needed most would not come from a quiet room, a sleeping baby, or a cleared schedule.
It would come from Him.
Because babies grow.
Needs change.
Life gets louder.
The questions get harder.
The weight gets heavier.
And motherhood becomes less about keeping everyone fed, dressed, and alive…
and more about trusting God with hearts, futures, wounds, choices, and stories I cannot control.
There are still moments when I want to gather everyone close and make everything okay.
But I can’t.
I can love them.
I can guide them.
I can pray for them.
I can show up again and again.
But I cannot be their Savior.
That may be one of the hardest lessons motherhood has taught me.
I was never meant to carry it all.
I was meant to carry what God placed in my hands for today…
and then trust the One who holds all of us.
Not because life is easy.
Not because motherhood stops being complicated.
Not because every story ties up neatly.
But because Jesus is steady in the middle of it.
And today, I am grateful for the younger version of me who held her babies close.
But I am even more grateful for the God who has been holding me all along.
What have you had to learn to place back in God’s hands instead of trying to carry it yourself?
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