If I had a dollar for every time a stranger has told me, “You have your hands full,” I believe we would own a massive house with savings for each kid to attend whatever college they desire, debt-free. That plus diaper money we’ve spent would set us for life.
Honestly, that phrase never feels good to hear as a Momma. It makes me feel more tired.
An elderly man once asked me in Costco as serious as he could be (in front of my children), “What are you trying to prove to the world with having all those kids?”
I get it, most days I look like the crazy lady in the grocery store 3 strikes away from a mental institution, who has nothing to prove other than her inability to parent. (For all those in the back, that was sarcasm.)
But, that’s a good question, what am I trying to prove?
I get it…Overwhelmed is what you mean! Why YES! Everyday actually. Some days I too often and out of familiarity put on being “overwhelmed” as my adornment or cloak.
Before my feet hit the ground, the responsibility of my day floods my mind. I’m thinking about dinner already and how I can squeeze in alone time with Jesus when so many people already “need me” before the sun rises. In all reality, all I want to do is sleep, I mean “pray” at his feet.
Yes, you’re right, in my overwhelmedness (a word I made up) I have moments of crying in the bathroom alone. But my tears aren’t because I hate my life or wish away my children. It’s because I wish I could be more for them. I wish my brain could handle the five different conversations happening at the same time. I wish I worked smarter, not harder, because I often do things way harder as a momma. My little secret: I’m 11 years into this game and I still think the girl across the street could micro-manage or delegate way better than me.
I wish cooking dinner for a small army was “natural” or that calm, positive discipline to my children was my “forte.” I wish I didn’t yell or lose my cool. I wish I baked more cookies and had more fun with them rather than stressing over the mountain of laundry and the endless crumbs that seem to make a home on my floor.
I wish mommy guilt didn’t keep me awake at night…
I wish… I wish… I wish…
But here is what I WISH you could SEE and my heart could focus more on.
My hands may be full and, yes, so is my heart, but even more than that, my inheritance is rich.. My bloodline is being cleansed and curses are being broken. Restitution was in the battle plans of heaven as God formed each child in my womb. “And here’s one for that time the enemy robbed joy, and here’s one for that time innocence was stolen, and here’s one that will break the curse of abandonment, and here’s one that will embody unconditional love, and here’s one that will be led by the compassion of Heaven.”
Restoration, Restitution, Recompense.
Arrows of retribution.
So, why yes, man at Costco, I am trying to prove something to this world.
My children are proof that God’s ways are good. That He is multigenerational. That He sees way past my current life and what I alone can accomplish.
That God makes good on His promises to me so much so that they will surpass one lifetime. That redemption looks much like life and double portion and promises fulfilled and multiplied. He will right the wrongs of the past by establishing blessings for the future even for my great, great, great-grandchildren.
My children are proof of a fulfillment of a promise made to me as a young girl at an alter when I said, “God use me. Break the curse.” My children are proof that God listens, that God answers, that God remembers. He remembers a silent prayer of my great grandfather or my husband’s great grandmother.
My children are proof that moments of healing aren’t at a finish line but in the in-betweens, like when my son hugs my neck and something deep in my soul is mended. That true joy isn’t found in moments of peace (like I often long for), but rather, dead smack in the middle of mess.
So yes, my hands are full, my cup runs over, my mind is overwhelmed, and…my inheritance is RICH.
That’s what I’m trying to prove.
Written by Amber Thorton
Featured Image by Markus Spiske