The giver

I am the giver.

I am the giver of birth to another life. I am the giver upper of my body. Nine months times three to grow tiny humans. Breastfeeding for a year or more. Repeat. Repeat. Gain and loose 40 pounds. Repeat. Repeat. Giver of a tiny safe place to grow brains, lungs, fingerprints, and teeny tiny hearts. Giver upper of those six pack abs and sleeping on my tummy to grow another life.

I am the giver upper of time. Giver of my own time to raise my own. Time run by a carefully mapped out schedule dictated by naps, lunches, nursing babies, school drop offs, and pick ups. Time carpooling to ballet and soccer practice. Time spent in the day to day life doing crafts, building legos, washing faces, and sweeping crumbs.  We want more of it and less of it all in the same breath. It is both our best friend and nemesis.  Sometimes the clock seems to never move, and yet, at the same time, it never stops.

I am the giver upper of sleep. Sleep deprived because of nightmares, cups of water, thunderstorms, and up all night nursing sessions. Giving up a full night’s sleep for days, weeks, and even months so that we can rock sick babies, feed hungry newborns, snuggle scared toddlers, and wait up for late arrival teenagers. We loose sleep worrying about doing everything right, doing nothing right, not being enough, being too much, how they are growing too fast, and do they know I love them?

I am the giver of choices. Yellow or blue cup. Goldfish or animals crackers. Sandals or rainboots. Yes or no. Choose joy or timeout. Choose kind. Please, please choose kind. Choose right or wrong. Please show me you know which one. Choices that break us, shape us and stretch us. So many choices. Choices to guide our little ones so that one day they will be confident decision makers.

I am the giver of discipline. Timeouts for tantrums at home, at the store, in the car. Punisher of yellers, and door slammers, naughty word sayers, and criers. Take awayer of iPads, and TVs and phones and friends and freedom. This one, this one, is when the giving is hard.

I am the giver of answers. May I play outside? Where are my shoes? What time is dinner? Where is my blankie? Why do I have to practice spelling? Sometimes, I listen and offer a thoughtful answer. Sometimes, I give answers without listening. Wait, I agreed to dessert before dinner?!

I am the giver of tasks. Pick up your room, hang your backpack. Clear your plate and wash your hands. Giver of laundry lists of “do”s to keep the house from falling into a post acopolytic battle ground. Giving orders and jobs to anyone who will listen, which basically means talking to the dog.

I am the giver of information. Dinner times, school activities, sporting events, show-n-tells, super student of the weeks, field trip permission slips, book order forms, and birthday party invitations. So. much. information. We will fall short. We will forget. Forgive us.

I am the giver of words. I love you’s, I am sorry’s and I forgive you’s. Words to build them up, erase their sorrow, and heal their pain. Words to cheer them on and correct, when necessary. Words to teach, encourage, and create trust. Words of wisdom and honesty to guide the way. Words to makes the cuts and scrapes all better, and when they are older, words to mend their broken hearts. May they always be words spoken with love and well intention. And when they are anything but, may there be more words to recognize the error of our ways.

I am the giver of love. Unconditionally. Without merit. Wherever. Whenever. Simply, for no other reason than, because you are mine. Giver of midnight snuggles, eskimo kisses, bear hugs, and air high-fives. Giver of jumping up and down squealing excitement love. Giver of holding you while you cry in my arms love. A mother’s love, like no other. It cannot be taken away. It will never run dry. Our love will love you forever.

I am the giver of myself. To my children. We give them all that we have. All the we are. We give. We give. And when we think we cannot possibly gove anymore of ourselves, we find a way to keep giving. Because time is one thing we cannot give back.

Fellow givers, you are not alone. I know somedays the weight of giving is heavy. Suffocating. Exhausting. I know that somedays it feels unappreciated. Invisible. Futile. But listen, my dear givers, your work makes ordinary days possible. Your work is the truest measure of love because it expects nothing in return. Your work matters. Your work makes the impossible, possible. Without you, the world would stop.

I see you, and I high-five you. So carry on because you are my hero.

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A Life with Food Allergies

Any mom who has children with a food allergy can relate to the terror that comes when your child is having an allergic reaction. The only way to describe it is complete and absolute panic.

Last summer, my family and I were enjoying a summer evening boat ride with family friends to celebrate the last day of school. While we were on the boat, my two year old son had accidentally consumed dairy, which he is allergic too. It was the scariest moments of my life. His lip began swelling and we raced to get off the water. I had forgotten to bring his epi pen along, and we had no idea how much time we had before anaphylactic shock set in.

We rushed to the emergency room, where the doctor said he was in early stages of anaphylactic shock. The hospital staff responded quickly, administering the medication he needed to stop it from getting worse. It was the scariest few hours of my life.

A public arrive announcement to all parents, grandparents, caregivers: allergies are no joke. It is a serious health condition that should not be taken lightly. And while it is not something as horrific as cancer or some other life-crippling disease, the same fate, death, is still a real and scary possibility.

If you are a mom with a child who has food allergies, your life probably looks very much like mine…

It’s explaining his restrictions to someone, who then looks at you in disbelief that a bowl of ice cream could, in fact, kill him.

It’s a constant thought on your mind for every meal of every day.

It’s continual planning of meals and snacks to make sure there is a safe option for your child at meal times. Sometimes it means cooking two different meals for dinner because one child cannot have the macaroni and cheese or egg sandwiches the other children are begging to eat.

It’s checking menus and ingredient lists and calling ahead to restaurants before you eat there to determine if there are safe options for your child.

It’s being protective of who is allowed to watch or babysit your child because you have to be absolutely certain that they understand his food allergies, can remember he has them, can be trusted to not to give him certain foods, and can administer the epi pen in the event he has a reaction.

It’s a feeling of pure terror when you receive a recall notice for your son’s epi pen, with the reason cited as “failing to inject.” and your mind wanders to the unthinkable worst case scenario.

It’s making two types of chocolate chip cookies for your large family because the dairy-free chocolate chips are twice the cost as the regular type.

It’s going to a grocery store an hour away to buy dairy-free ice cream because that is the only store where it is sold.

It’s making a dairy-free, egg-free, nut-free birthday cake twice because the first time it crumbled in your hands. And he absolutely needs a cake to celebrate turning three.

It’s bringing allergy safe snacks to Sunday school because the goldfish are not safe for him. It’s reminding the Sunday school volunteers every week that he has his own snack, and walking away praying they remember amid the craziness of a room full of toddlers.

It’s checking food labels all. the. time. Your first trip to the store after he’s been diagnosed is discouraging beyond words because you realize dairy and eggs are literally in EVERYTHING. As you wipe tears away while standing in the grocery store aisle, you wonder what can I feed him and how can I do this every day?

It’s trying to always be one step ahead in all situations by bringing extra treats and snacks in your purse so he is not without. But then there are they times when you cannot predict- like going to story time at the library, only to find out a mom brought in cupcakes to share to celebrate a birthday, which your child cannot enjoy.

It’s being so overcome with gratitude when your close friend makes an allergy safe cupcake for your child to eat at her daughter’s birthday party. You want to hug her and cry at the same time because it was so incredibly thoughtful.

It’s keeping an extra-large supply of Allegra on hand in the event he touches eggs, dairy, peanuts, or tree nuts. Because a rash will appear in less than five minutes.

It’s almost crying when you randomly meet another mom at your daughter’s ballet class, who has a child with the exact same food allergies. Because finally- someone who understands every part of your struggle.

It’s requesting your extended family not put chocolate in eggs for the annual Easter egg hunt because one of your children cannot eat it. It’s picking out the Halloween candy after trick-or-treating that is not safe.

It’s being paranoid about encountering anyone with Influenza A because your child’s egg allergy prevents him getting the flu shot.

It’s teaching him at a young age of two that certain foods “make me itchy,” in an effort to teach him to protect himself if mom and dad are not right there.

It’s wishing moms of preschool and elementary aged children would ask about food allergies in a classroom before bringing in special treats.

Everywhere you turn these days, it seems someone knows someone with a food allergy, and yet, as a mom with a food allergy child, it still feels so isolating. No matter how hard I try, there will still be scenarios where he is left out, excluded, made to feel different. And I cannot shield him from all of that, but oh, how I want to. Isn’t that instinctive to us, mama bears? To rescue, protect, and fight for our little cubs.

So whether my son outgrows these allergies or lives with them forever, I will always advocate for him and other food allergy kids. And don’t loose hope fellow food allergy mamas. I know, first hand, the challenges, the emotions, the loneliness that comes with this life. You are not alone. And mamas who don’t have these challenges or fully understand the struggles–one word–Oreos! They are dairy-free, egg-free and nut free, who knew? Keep in stock for your next play date, birthday or school function and we might just cry at your kindness.

xo, Becca

Beautiful Mess

Messy houses and motherhood go together like peanut butter and jelly. You cannot have one without the other. Somedays the messes are never ending and overwhelming. But look closer Mama, and you will see something beautiful.

***

Those cracker crumbs on the floor are what is left from your giggling tea party with your preschooler. Where you both dressed up in fancy hats, and sipped apple juice in your grandmother’s teacups because those cups never get used enough. You both said silly words like “scrumptious” and “divine,” and you wondered if you’d ever laughed so hard. Ever.

The glitter on the table still lingering after three days is from your Valentine’s Day heart craft. You and your kids made cards for Daddy because he works so hard for the family. You talked about why you all love Daddy and used ALL. THE. GLITTER. because hearts can never have too much sparkle.

The snowpants and boots by the front door- the remnants of the kids squealing about waking up to the season’s first snowfall. You and the kids sledded a hundred times or more down the hill in your yard. After each run, giggles and smiles saying “Again! Mommy!” Because how can you NOT?

The pile of books laying next to your son’s bed is evidence of before bedtime snuggles where you read “Little Blue Truck” ten times and tucked him in twelve times because he is just too cute, and said I love you fifty times because tomorrow he will wake up one day older.

The dishes filling up the sink are from baking cookies where your first grader cracked the eggs all by herself, your toddler spilled the flour because well, it happens. And your preschooler poured in the entire bag of m&ms in the bowl because the more chocolate, the better.

The legos cluttering the stairway, that’s where your three year old learned to build a tower, but quickly realized the real fun comes from knocking it over. Again. And again.

The nail polish bottles on the bathroom counter is from when you gave your two year old her first mani and pedi and you can still hear her little voice saying, “Me so wuvwie (lovely).”

The train set taking over the dining room floor, that is where your boys played for hours building, making “Choo choo” sounds and talking about riding the train at the zoo last summer. Your heart was so happy watching them play so nicely, you thought it might burst with joy.

The couch cushions and pillows thrown across floor are from your kids making stepping stones to run across the room without falling into the hot lava and dungeon of dragons.

The basket full of dirty clothes sits and waits to be washed. Your 6 month old is cutting his first tooth and the only thing that soothes him is mommy’s snuggles. You’ll take snuggles over clean clothes any day because you know all too well that babies don’t keep.

These “messes,” are evidence you are doing awesome, Mama. Because awesome moms have fun with their kids and messes are proof of just that. Childhood dreams come true and memories are made from these messes. Aren’t they beautiful?

The Perfect Gift

“It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more!” -The Grinch

****

Christmas. I love everything about it. The festive decorating, baking, the lights, elf on the shelf, wrapping presents, Christmas carols, gingerbread houses, trimming the tree. I love it so much that every year I overwhelm myself with activities, events, and traditions because I want my children to “experience the magic” of Christmas.

I know I am not alone here when I say I get carried away in all the Christmas craziness. Admittedly, somedays I lose sight of the real reason we celebrate Christmas- the birth of Jesus. I fill my calendar with crafts and baking, gingerbread house creating, parades, concerts, Santa visits and more to make each year full of memories for my children, all the while stressing myself to the max.

So here I was on a Saturday lugging my three children by myself to lunch with Santa at the firehouse. We’d already seen Santa last weekend with his reindeer because Hello? MAGICAL!  There, I had traumatized my toddler because, he will want to see a picture of himself with Santa one day! I mean, doesn’t every child have a screaming Santa picture? (totally kidding, don’t judge). But back to the firehouse, another Christmas “to-do” I added to the list because fire trucks, hot chocolate and Santa sounds fun, right?

If there is one thing I have learned about parenting, is that nothing ever goes as planned. And sometimes these activities sound much better in my head. We arrived and waited in the long line to see Santa. Again. It was cold, crowded and very loud.  My littlest refused to walk and DID NOT want to see Santa. He was hungry, crabby, and tired. The best combination. My girls were indifferent about the whole thing. And I began to question, what am I even doing here, honestly?

There we were standing in this crowded room of Christmas mayhem, stressed and crabby, making “magical Christmas memories,” (insert sarcasm here) when my four year old pulled at my jacket. I bent down while still holding my crying toddler, and she quietly said, “Mom, this isn’t what Christmas is about. You know, Santa. It is about Baby Jesus’s birthday. He was born on Christmas.”

The weight of her words nearly knocked me over. Truth spoken from a four year old. I squeezed her hand and smiled. Both humbled and proud. Humbled that it took words from a four year old to remind me that this Christmas fluff doesn’t matter. And proud that she KNOWS the true meaning of Christmas. She IS  listening to me. “Oh, sweetie,” I said, “that is so true! Thank you for reminding me of that.” Thank you, Jesus, I prayed, for this moment and for the words from my precious one.

If you are paying attention, your children can teach you more than you ever imagined. I learned a valuable lesson that day. One I am proud to say came from my daughter. A truth I preach to my children, but apparently don’t always practice. That none of this stuff really matters. The toys, the events, the elf on the shelf, the Santas. They hold zero eternal value. But Jesus does. He came for the world to save you and me. And that, THAT. is what I need to focus my eyes on. That one night in Bethlehem, the Savior was born, and He would change eternity. The King of all Kings brought hope by coming into the world in the simplest of ways, in a stable, born amongst the animals. So for now, all the other trimmings and trappings, the ribbons and wrapping can wait; for I’m basking in the glory of the birth of God’s perfect son.

xo, Becca

P.S. If you are reading this and have never heard about the birth of Jesus or have no idea about his Great Love for you, I encourage you to read Luke chapter 2 in The Bible. And then let’s meet for coffee to discuss.

“For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.” Luke 2:11

 

 

Both.

Ever since my oldest daughter started 4k, if you asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up she’d always say a “mom.” Of course this filled my heart with joy because what better compliment than that, right? For career day in kindergarten, she went with her baby strapped to her tummy and diaper bag slung over her shoulder.

A few months ago, she came home from school with a drawing of her with a dolphin and declared, “I’m going to be a dolphin trainer when I grow up!” Of course I thought this was great and a creative career choice. “I need to learn to jump off the diving board, you know, for when I am a dolphin trainer,” she’d said this past summer. She even received a dolphin trainer barbie as a gift. “You know that means you’ll have to move far away from mom and dad,” my husband said to her at one point. “I know, but you’ll come visit me,” she answered nonchalantly.

A few weeks ago for career night at Wednesday night church, she eagerly planned to wear a snorkel mask and bring a stuffed dolphin. But that evening as we prepared to leave, she became quiet and worry swept over her face. Something was wrong, I thought. Her voice quivered a bit as she spoke, “Mom?” “What’s the matter?” I asked. Her voice was soft and slow. “Well, I think I want to be a mom instead.”

In the split second before responding, a million thoughts raced through my head. Here is one of those defining moments in parenthood, I thought. One of those times where my answer is really important.

*****

I wanted to tell her that I wouldn’t trade the path I chose for anything, but you, my daughter, can choose your own path. It doesn’t have to be mine, and I’ll love you and support you through it all. It’s okay to want to have a career that you love and kids too. Or have kids and no career. Being a mom is a joy that cannot be explained, but it’s okay if you don’t want to be a mom when you grow up. It’s okay if you do.

To my children, I’ll always be mom first, before anything else. While, I am okay with that and I love being a mom, that’s not all that I am. And you, my child, if you choose to be a mother- that will not be all that you are either.

You are strong, smart, capable and confident. You can absolutely be “other things” without betraying your motherhood. Be a dolphin trainer, a scientist, a teacher, a doctor, a writer- please, chase after those dreams and fight for them. Those goals and dreams, that desire to “be” is what makes you, you. You don’t have to give up on your dreams you are running after in order to be a mom. You are not less of a mother if you have a career, and you aren’t more of a mom if you don’t.

If you decide to be a career mom, you are not alone if you are exhausting yourself trying to give both your work and your family one hundred percent. Here’s a little secret-whatever you are giving to each side- it’s enough. Let the rest of it just be. And breathe, mama.

And if you decide to be a stay-at-home-mom you are not the only one on a difficult day wondering, as you stand over the sink eating cold mac n’ cheese for lunch with your toddler begging for “uppy,” while hearing yet another sibling fight, how can I do this one more day? 

Mothering is in no way glamorous, career or no career aside. It’s marathon nursing sessions, a sink of dirty dishes, piles of laundry, in which you actually ponder if death-by-laundry is possible. It’s cold coffee, yoga pants, lunch packing and grocery store tantrums. It is holy work.

But it is also bedtime stories, sand castle building and Candyland playing. It’s singing littles to sleep, pillow fort making, sloppy kiss and gigantic hug giving. Its bouncy curls, homemade crafts, Christmas concerts, nature walks and piggy back rides. And a house full of laughter.

You see, becoming a mother adds a layer of richness to your life; it fills a part of your heart that you didn’t even know exisited. But it doesn’t take away from who you were before. That person still exists too. She may become lost in motherhood for a while, but she’s still there.

*****

I wanted to tell her all of this, but instead, I looked her in eyes with a smile on my face and said, ” My sweet girl, you don’t have to choose.” Her head perked up with a glimmer in her eyes and a slight smile crept across her face. “I can be both?” She asked. “Yes, you can be both!” I answered. With a sigh of relief and a huge grin on her face, “okay,” she said excitedly, “then I want to be both!”

Satisfied and joyful, off she went- the future dolphin trainer AND mom. And my heart is full. ❤️

xo, Becca

 

 

Great Moms and Grocery Stores

An elderly woman stopped me in the egg aisle at the grocery store this week in the middle of my toddler’s screaming meltdown. He was in a timeout for throwing the pack of hot dogs at his sister’s face.

To be honest, when she came towards me, I wanted to turn the other way-the last thing I needed was someone giving me parenting advice during this “situation,” or smiling telling me, “it goes so fast,” (because yes, in this moment, I hope it does) or “one day you’ll miss this,” (because I seriously doubt I’ll miss screaming children in the middle of the grocery store), Instead, I took a deep breath and braced myself for whatever snarky comment was coming.

But instead, you know what she told me? “You are a great mom.” She didn’t even know me, and yet, here she was speaking truth into me at the exact moment I needed to hear it. And if I am honest, some days I feel anything but.

***

Motherhood is a lot of pushing off selfishness and pride, self sacrificing to the brink of a complete breakdown, and daily mental and physical exhaustion. It is also a lot of praying for grace, patience, joy and love. So often I feel unworthy, undeserving, and unqualified for motherhood. I know these are lies that the enemy uses to taunt me, weigh me down, and guilt me. I know these are untruths, but yet, somehow I still allow myself to believe them when I am having a hard day of mothering.

I made an ABC list recently to remind myself who God says I am. When I feel like I cannot do this gig one more minute or feel burdened by lies, I remember the truths of who God says I am. After reciting these, a few deep breaths, and perhaps a sip of coffee or a piece of chocolate, I carry on. So I promise, you can too.

Anointed

Beautiful

Chosen

Delivered

Even me

Forgiven

Grace given

His child

In his sight-perfect

Justified

Kingdom bound

Loved

Mercy given

New life

Owned by God

Paid with a price

exQuisite

Redeemed

Saved by sacrifice

Trusted

United

Victorious

Wisdom thru Christ

eXempt from hell

Younique

Zero without God

****

I smiled at the woman, thinking to myself how grateful I was that I didn’t walk away. Tears filled my eyes, “thank you,” I said. She reminded me of a truth I often don’t allow myself to believe or forget amid the chaos of motherhood.

She had no idea how much I needed to hear those words, how it encouraged me all day, or how it snapped me out of my frustration over (another) public toddler meltdown. So to the woman at the grocery store, thank you, you will not soon be forgotten.

I am not sharing this story in anyway to “toot my own horn” or to seek compliments on my mothering. I am certainly “a work in progress” with way too many flaws to list. But I am sharing for moms in this same stage as me, where both the best part and hardest part of motherhood is being needed all.the.time, when you are so exhausted by the weight of motherhood, you just want to curl up in a ball and ugly cry, and where your life, time, and body is not your own-you are a great mom. Don’t believe the lies the enemy puts inside your head or the snarky comments from naysayers. Remember the ABC Truth list of who God says you are. You are not failing, you are enough and your are worthy.

I am also sharing for the moms past this stage in life with grown kids and empty nests, look for the young moms at the store, in a crowd, or at a restaurant. Build her up, encourage her, smile and say, “I understand.” I promise, you will make us cry and our day. ❤️

xo, Becca

Tennis Shoe Trust

School mornings around here are always hectic. On any given morning my tasks include pouring ceral, brushing hair (“pink bow, mom!”), packing lunches, finding that missing mitten while carrying a cranky toddler, handling at least one tantrum about a “bump in my sock,” and telling my children at least 237 times to put on their shoes. No matter how prepared I am the night before, the morning always ends in a mad dash to get out the door on time for school drop-off.

I go through a mental checklist in my head. Backpack? Check. Lunch? Check. Pink folder? Check. Snow gear? Wait. It is finally warm out. No snow gear. Is it Thursday, do we need show-and-tell? No, it’s Monday. Oh! That means we need library book! Sweatshirt? Check. Tennis shoes? Check.

Except on this particular morning, I forgot the mental checklist. After school drop-off, I took the younger children to the playground for a playdate. It was lunchtime when we arrived home at which point I noticed a missed call on my phone. School called. Oh no!  I thought as I started listening to the voicemail. Savannah forgot her tennis shoes…wearing sandals…please bring for recess…

I glance at my watch. 11:44. Recess is in 14 minutes. “Kids, we need to go!” I say to my other ones in the middle of eating lunch. We scramble to jump in the car. My two year old crying because he is mid-chew. “Savannah needs her shoes for the playground.” I explain in the car.

Ugh. This is the second time this year we have forgotten her tennis shoes. I hope we make it in time, I think as we pull into the parking lot. As we enter the school, I see they are still eating lunch. The receptionist kindly tells me I may take her shoes to her.  As we enter the cafeteria, the kids and I scan the tables for her. And there in the back at the hot lunch table, I see her. And she has a huge grin on her face once she sees us. We deliver her shoes, and Savannah is happy. “My shoes! Thank you, Mommy! I can play on the playground!” She exclaims. She hugs me. We chat with her friends for a few minutes. The girls squeal over her “cute” baby brother.

That was close, I think as we make our way home. I am relieved. I made it in time. I didn’t let her down. She can count on me. And my heart feels full.

The day carried on without incident and on our walk home from school I asked Savannah if she was worried Mommy wouldn’t bring her shoes to school. “No.” She said immediately. “You brought them last time I forgot. So I knew you would bring them to me,” she said as she skipped off down the road.

I knew you would bring them, I repeated back to myself. Her words hanging in the air. She trusted me. Even though it was in the final hour that she needed her shoes, she believed I would bring them. There was no worry. No doubt. No fear.

And right there, I realized I could learn a lot about trust from my kindergartner. She trusted me fully with her whole heart. She believed in me. Can I say the same about trusting my heavenly father? How often do I question God? How often do I worry about plans, relationships, finances, health issues. I ask and ask. Are you sure God, I ask again. Are you listening God? Is it time yet, God? Any minute now, God? I worry. I rant. I stress. I doubt. I get anxious in the waiting on God. In the trusting.

But do you trust me? He whispers.

What if the answer I am waiting for is not about the answer, but in the actual waiting. Waiting so I can actually trust him. Trust. Him. That he knows. He hears. He answers. He always provides. Maybe the answers come once I finally let go.

But do you trust me? He whispers.

What if I trusted God as fully as my daughter trusted in me to bring her shoes? What if I never doubted God and his timing as my daughter never doubted mine? Has he not demonstrated through past answered prayers that he will always come through for me as I had done for my daughter? Yes. Always. 

But still, I let my imperfect, broken, sinner flesh dictate my feelings and actions instead of handing it to God and saying, Here God. You got this for me. I. Trust. You. 

But do you trust me? He whispers again.

Proverbs 3:5-6 says, Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.

This verse doesn’t say to trust God with part of your heart and only acknowledge him some of the time. But with all your heart in all your ways. I am working on having “tennis shoe” trust in God with everything from a close parking spot at the grocery store on a rainy day with kids in tow to big life altering events–like preschool closings. And in doing so, he will lead me on the right path.

And the next time one of my children forgets their shoes, lunch, homework, or mittens, (because I know there will be a next time) it will remind me to keep trusting God in the midst of whatever struggle I may be facing.

My five-year-old taught me an invaluable lesson about trust that day. And I know that inevitably there will be a day that I fail one of my children-even with my best efforts-because I am human and imperfect. But she can always count on God. We both can. He will always be there. He never disapoints. He never falls short. He never leaves. He never fails.

xo, Becca