I knew it would happen eventually.
After two months of packing, end-of-schooling, moving, renovating, paper-working, day camp-ing, writing, and working (all at 100 miles per hour)…
I lost it.
My toddler insisted on feeding herself, refusing to let me feed her chicken and rice, after I had just put her in clean pajamas for the night.
I don’t remember the details other than shouting a few obscenities and slamming the door to my bedroom… annnd the door to my bathroom as well, locking myself away to “cool down” with a hot shower.
It’s amazing what thirty minutes alone in silence can do for a mama’s soul.
By the time I pulled myself together, my husband (bless his heart) had already rounded up the crew and all their loveys, and taken the Littles to Nana’s for the night, per the usual Friday routine.
I emerged from my bedroom, picking up stray Goldfish, toys and video game controllers, while acknowledging the eerie silence of the empty house.
I picked up a diaper box, and could hear the voice of my son echoing through my head, asking for help cutting it so he could turn it into some elaborate project.
I walked into my daughter’s room, and picked up the giant pink balloon I had used to distract her so I could take care of just one more thing.
Closing the blinds I felt a strange sadness wash over me. All day long I couldn’t wait to get my children out of my hair so I could have a moment of peace to myself. But now that they were gone…
I missed the heck out of them.
This seems to be the epic irony of motherhood.
I used to allow the pain of these moments to point fingers at my mistakes. I rolled through the list of “should have”s, “could have”s, and “would have”s…
I should have spent more time with my kids today.
I could have paused the dishes for a moment to help Avery with his craft.
I would have been a lot less on edge today if I had planned better.
But those personal guilt trips never took me anywhere other than Depression Drive.
Over time I’ve learned something: these little moments of pain serve a protective purpose. They are like tiny tremors, warning of much greater damage that is to come if changes are not made.
Ecclesiastes 7:3 tells us, “Sorrow is better than laughter, for sadness has a refining influence on us.”
Burning away the chaff and bringing me back to what matters most.
Cutting away my selfish and unloving humanity, and molding me more into the image of Christ.
But we don’t change when we’re comfortable.
The pain of staying the same must be greater than the pain of change before we will ever pursue it.
Can I be honest? Over the past few months, I’ve experienced pain.
The pain of exhaustion.
The pain of depression.
The pain of strained relationships.
The pain of lost time.
All this pain has brought me to where I am today. Pursuing change.
Some of you may have noticed a few weeks ago that I am passing off Rooted Moms to one of our amazing contributors, who will now serve as director.
I’m learning that sometimes God prunes good things to make room for the best things.
My husband needs my support.
My kids need my presence.
My life needs margin.
I don’t intend to “fall off the map”, but you may hear less from me in the coming months.
It’s all good.
As unsure as I feel some days, I’m excited to see God’s plan unfold during this next, new season of life… and I can’t wait to share everything the Lord teaches me through it with you.
“Sorrow is better than laughter, for sadness has a
A little about me...
Hi, I'm Katie!
Wife to Craig, mom of three, author, writer, Rooted Moms founder, Jesus-follower, Bible teacher, and coffee enthusiast.
Follow me as I follow Christ and share my heart throughout the journey.
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