One of the greatest surprises of motherhood for me was discovering how much of my frustration had very little to do with my children and quite a lot to do with my own expectations.
Before children, much of life belonged to me.
My schedule belonged to me.
My time belonged to me.
My plans belonged to me.
If I wanted to leave the house, I left the house.
If I wanted to sit quietly with a book, I sat quietly with a book.
If I wanted to spend an afternoon uninterrupted, there was usually no small person standing between me and whatever I had planned.
Then motherhood arrived, and suddenly my days revolved around people who did not care one bit about my schedule.
Babies are wonderfully needy.
Toddlers are wonderfully inconvenient.
Children have a remarkable ability to interrupt every thought, every task, every conversation, and every attempt at efficiency.
And if I am honest, at times, I struggled with that more than I would like to admit.
Not because I did not love my children.
I loved them fiercely from the moment I knew they existed.
But love has a way of exposing things hidden in the heart.
Motherhood became a mirror, and in that mirror I saw a woman who often felt entitled to her own plans.
Entitled to uninterrupted sleep.
Entitled to uninterrupted conversations.
Entitled to uninterrupted thoughts.
Entitled to personal freedom.
Entitled to a life that unfolded according to her preferences.
The Lord was kind enough to show me that much of my frustration was rooted there.
We live in a culture that constantly reinforces those feelings.
Everywhere you turn, people are encouraged to place themselves at the center of the story.
Protect your peace.
Prioritize yourself.
Make yourself happy.
Put your needs first.
Guard your freedom.
The language sounds reasonable enough until it collides with the life of Christ.
When I read the Gospels, I find a Savior whose life was continually interrupted.
The blind called out to Him.
The sick sought Him.
The grieving found Him.
The crowds followed Him.
Children climbed into His lap.
The disciples constantly misunderstood Him and demanded His attention.
Need surrounded Him everywhere He went.
And yet there is something beautiful about the way Christ responded to people.
He never seemed irritated by their neediness.
He never treated people as obstacles standing in the way of His real life.
He understood that serving them was His life.
“For even the Son of man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister.” Mark 10:45
Those words have become increasingly precious to me over the years because motherhood is, in many ways, a ministry of being interrupted.
A mother begins her day with plans and often ends it having accomplished something entirely different because someone needed comfort, correction, help, guidance, food, prayer, transportation, encouragement, discipline, or simply her presence.
And while that can feel exhausting, it can also become one of the greatest tools of sanctification in a woman’s life.
The Lord uses children to pry our fingers loose from ourselves.
They reveal selfishness we did not know was there.
They expose impatience.
They uncover pride.
They teach us how often we demand our own way.
And if our hearts remain soft before God, He uses those discoveries to shape us.
I think one of the great lies of modern life is that fulfillment comes through protecting ourselves from inconvenience.
The life of Christ points in another direction entirely.
Again and again we see Him pouring Himself out.
Giving.
Serving.
Loving.
Teaching.
Healing.
Welcoming.
And somehow becoming no less full in the process.
That does not mean mothers never need rest.
Even Jesus withdrew from the crowds.
There are seasons where wisdom requires slowing down, caring for your health, and creating space to breathe.
God never intended women to collapse under impossible expectations.
But there is a vast difference between wise stewardship and a heart that constantly demands its own comfort.
One posture asks, “Lord, how can I faithfully continue serving?”
The other asks, “How can I arrange life so that I am disturbed as little as possible?”
Motherhood eventually taught me that some of the things I once viewed as interruptions were actually invitations.
Invitations to patience.
Invitations to sacrifice.
Invitations to tenderness.
Invitations to become more like Christ.
Years later, looking back across twenty-three years of motherhood, I cannot remember most of the things that interrupted my plans.
I cannot remember many of the errands I didn’t finish.
I cannot remember the tasks that were delayed.
But I remember the children.
I remember the conversations.
I remember the bedtime prayers.
I remember the little hands tugging at my sleeve.
I remember the questions.
I remember the laughter.
I remember the ordinary moments that feel sacred in hindsight.
And I am thankful that God loved me enough not to leave me alone with my entitlement.
He gave me children instead.
And through them, He taught me that the fullest life is often found in the very places where we stop demanding our own way and begin learning how to love like Christ.
Forever Grateful,
Biblical Womanhood
I’m in the final stages of writing “The Quiet Heart: A Bible Study on Contentment.”
I intend to have final edits done, and the completed study ready to email out by Friday, June 19.
This is not a fluffy devotional.
This is a meaty study on a fruit of the spirit today’s culture is desperately lacking.
Study Biblical Contentment with me!
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