Broken Eggs

I cried. A helpful child of mine was trying to load the groceries onto the belt, and her foot crushed a
carton. I cried over broken eggs -- a grown woman crumpled up in the register lane, dripping tears.
While positive strangers chimed “What a bunch of cuties you have!”

I went ahead and continued loading the groceries onto the conveyor and didn’t even say anything about
my half-smushed carton of eggs. I could deal with that at home. I made it through the purchasing,
bagging, and getting my four kids in the van, but not in my Mary Poppins demeanor. Then, as I sat in
my seat and started pulling out of the parking lot, I let myself cry some more.

There was a lot going on. Isn’t there always? It was one of those days in which I needed to have every
minute scheduled out in order to complete what needed to be completed. But I had been tired since I
got up and just wanted to cozy up to nap. It was also a normal day in which I had four children to care for.
There was a visitor coming to stay at our house, expectations to meet, a party to prepare. And on top of
that, my hormones were apparently conspiring against me, too. It's an extra burden to our battle, but all
you mamas shoulder it.

So as I sat in my van seat, trying to just breathe, it wasn’t about the broken eggs. 

You’ve been there. You’ve tried to accomplish something and been thwarted. You’ve been so busy with
littles that your loneliness aches. You’ve had so many interruptions in your day that you’re not even sure
if your brain is capable of continued thought anymore. You’ve yearned for more but been made
desperate by your anxiety.

My thoughts flitted to the things that we moms sometimes hold on to in order to hold ourselves up.
Hugs from my children, approval from my husband, commendation from others. But before that, as
soon as I had settled in the van, my heart had leaned in to my Savior. I had cried out to Jesus for help.
He held me. 

Children don’t always snuggle when we want snuggles.

Husbands don’t always see the work that is most important to us, or praise us for doing it well.

Other people definitely don’t care if a party is thrown the way we envision it.

I am so thankful for Jesus. That relationship is what it is all about. Jesus sees me, Jesus is my friend.
Jesus is worth living for. He can give me real wisdom. He is the same yesterday, today, and forever -- no
matter the level of my hormones.

After clinging to Jesus, the thought of those other possible hopes--children, spouse, approval-- just
seemed terribly dingy. They are broken reeds that splinter and prick you if you try to use them as
crutches. 

 I was still tired and overwhelmed and hormonal, but I was in step with the greater one. Thinking about
him imparts joy, being known by him comforts me, knowing him gives me bigger reasons to live my day. 

Cling to him, mama. 

*Oh, if you are without this true friend, my heart breaks for you. In these moments, I feel the anxiety of
what it would be like to try to do this mom life (and all life) without him. Lonely. Full of disappointments.
Grasping for something “more.” Listen to his voice. Read his word. Ask me to introduce you to him.