Most coherent, reflective thought comes to me in the still, silent night, that moment when I am putting my child to sleep, after she has gone down, but before I place her in her bed. And last night was no different.
She had finally quieted and had given up the good fight of resistance to bedtime. I rocked slowly back and forth, continuing the lulling motion a bit longer to ensure my youngest was indeed in a deep surrender to the sandman.
As our bodies tethered by love moved back and forth in a sleepy-time medley I gazed at her drowsing face. There was something about a sleeping baby, and I didn’t think even the most majestic sunset could compare in beauty to my dozing princess in that moment.
My thoughts came quickly in an emotional outpouring, and they whispered to my soul after a hard day. It had been a long day, as life with young children tends to be, and while it had been a blessed day, it had also been a challenging one.
I pray I did well.
So many days I awake refreshed, prayers of thanksgiving on my lips, and morning cuddles to accompany a hot cup of coffee. I arise a strong woman ready to conquer the little world I transverse that is childrearing, but somewhere along the way, in between tantrums, skipped naps, and bruised egos, my resolve begins to slip.
My patience wanes, my energy drains, and the strong, eager mother becomes a weary, weepy woman who is certain she has failed. I have many jobs, but only this one calling in life I am driven to do so well, yet sometimes I feel like I fall flat on that duty. And as the day turns to night, as hyper children finally sleep soundly, I stare at their closed eyes and I pray.
I pray I’m doing well.
My heart’s deepest desire is to show my babies the love of Christ, to show them His heart by example. Yet so many times I miss the beat, and as our day wanders off path, and my focus wavers from the task at hand, I find myself simply holding on for dear life. In my mistakes, misgivings, and missteps I reach blindly, clinging to the cross, holding on to the hope that my babies somehow still know that I love them.
I pray I’m doing well.
Some days that is all I can do. I can only sit in my rocker at the very end, quieting my child, my mind, and my spirit, and surrendering my day to the one who holds it all in the palm of His hand.
He who holds my heart, He who knows my desire to raise my kids in a manner that is pleasing in His sight, He who forgives me when I do less than His best for me; I cling to Him, my Lord, my God. And I pray that I am doing well.
My socked feet touched carpet, slowing the sway, then ceasing our rocking lullaby. I stared again at her peaceful face, transfixed by such beauty, such perfection, such a happy, healthy child. Perhaps I was doing well.
I knew I could do better; I could always do better. But there was also tomorrow. For this night I would lay her down, I would lay my own exhausted body down, and I would lay it all down at the feet of Jesus.
Denise says
Beautiful, Brie.. Simply beautiful and an entry that would be well served in a Christian book about mothering.
I know you only through this blog, and, obviously, I am not Him, but I sense that you are “doing very well”. An awareness and questioning of oneself alone serves as confirmation of being on the right path.
May God continue to bless you and yours on this wonderful journey of life.
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you so much.
Sarah says
You are such a talented and wonderful writer. I look forward to each of your blogs! Each one is so relatable to mothers. I am a working mother of two beautiful boys, ages 6 and 5, and I’m married to a police officer. Thank you for sharing your joys and struggles of married life and raising your children!
brieann.rn@gmail.com says
Thank you so much!