Time alone for reading God’s Word and quiet prayer can be hard to come by when you’re a busy parent from dawn till dusk. If I were to wake before my youngest, I’d have to set the alarm for four o’clock AM.
Lately, I’ve been pondering how to be inspired throughout my day — how to think about Jesus even in the middle of it all. I’ve started counting the gifts, you know, focusing on even the littlest things that are evidences of His love. I’ve been listening to Christian audio book downloads and sermons online while I do the dishes or fold laundry. I read inspired bloggers like Emily Freeman and Shaun Groves. I listen to songs about Jesus and His love on Pandora.
And, with my four-year-old, I read The Jesus Storybook Bible. It has spoken to my heart in really meaningful ways. I’ve needed this Jesus teaching in the language of children too.
Tonight, in the car, first time alone and able to be inside my head, on my way to my exercise class — a thought: “I bet God has a special place in His heart for mothers. He probably wishes He could hold them extra tight, wipe away their tears. He must be so proud of the work we are doing, raising the little ones.”
And then I stopped, replaying my own words. “He wishes He could hold them…”
What? Why couldn’t He? It’s not like God is so estranged from us, stuck in a celestial world. He’s right here with us, in the thick of the hairiest angry fit. He can hold us… right?
Then I realized something.
He can certainly try to hold me, but it’s up to me to let Him. I’m that writhing, arched-back, wanna-do-it-my-way, all-by-myself, two-year-old. I won’t relax and let Him hold me. I won’t stop trying. I won’t calm down. I won’t be still.
“Be still and know that I am God.” Psalm 46:10 NIV
This afternoon was a battle 
for me and my stubborn little boy. He was tired, obviously. But unwilling to rest in my arms, his bed, or any other place. The whining and discontent increased, but he struggled whenever I tried to hold him or sing to him. Finally — on my lap, listening to me read to his older brother, he loses the battle. He relaxes into my embrace, his head leaning hard into my arm. Breath slower, longer — he sleeps.
I want to give up the fight, the life I try so hard at. I want to rest in those strong arms of love. Arms offering grace and freedom to me. I want to trust that embrace so much that I can fall asleep, leaning deep into that love.
So I can accept grace. So I can live in grace — pure joy, pure gratitude. So I can parent with grace.
Being a mother is important, exhausting work. Let God hold you, in the middle of the day.
