It was that heavy time of day. You know, that time when you realize that another day is slipping away and all you have to show for it is a bigger pile of dishes, more laundry, and the same stagnant set of worries from the days before.
You know, that time of day when everyone’s tired, but restless. Hungry, but fed-up. Fragile, but rock-hard. When school is over, but homework is looming. After friends have disappointed, but before siblings are appreciated.
You know, that time of motherhood when the problems are too big to wrap in a blanket and conflicts don’t end with a time-out. When a pacifier or teddy bear just won’t cut it. When being a mom just isn’t enough.
You know, that time when moms try, but can’t do much to make a difference, so they hide their incompetence and their tears by bending to pick up all the socks and shoes and books and backpacks off the floor.
You know, when we fix dinner because we can’t fix anything else. When we straighten up the living room because life’s a mess. When we can’t stop moving because it will all catch up with us if we do.
It was that time when the sound of my son playing his guitar stopped me in my tracks. He has such a gift, I thought. It didn’t come from me, or my husband. It came straight from God. Straight from God.
I stood in between rooms and in between seasons, with my hands full, with my heart heavy, and listened. I stood still long enough to remember…
God used my womb to usher my kids into this world, but He doesn’t need me as the middle man in their lives. God’s not bound by my gifts or my limitations. He’s not wringing His hands over what words I’ll say or what lessons I’ll teach them. He never needs me. He can use me, or not. I can harmonize, or not. Either way, the music will play on…
God reached directly past me and into my son’s soul to compose the song of his life. And he’s playing it beautifully without my help.
Through the music, God reminded me that He is bigger than my parenting. His grace reaches way past my gene pool and His provision runs far deeper than my resources.
When I believe I’m supposed to be enough for my kids, then I’m forgetting they were created to need what I can’t provide.
When I think it’s up to me to keep my kids’ lives together, then I’m forgetting Who did the knitting in my womb.
On that afternoon, God used my son to play me a melody of grace, hope, and a new-found freedom.
It was a solo performance, and it was music to my soul.