I don’t know exactly when my life changed.

I don’t know when I lost control.

When the stress started mounting.

When I started yelling more.

Loving less.

I woke up one morning and didn’t like my life anymore.

The children were fighting, screaming, crying, clinging, smothering.  I couldn’t demand obedience.  Not even if I screamed.  Which I did.  A lot.

I would plead with God for patience.  To be filled with His Spirit.  To be a better mom.  I begged.  I tried. I failed.  I tried harder.  I failed harder.

I stopped asking.

I knew I should be reading my bible, but told myself God understood that I was busy.  That I never had a moment to myself.  So I didn’t have time for Him.

My heart grew colder.

The first prayer I prayed, I almost didn’t.

It was two days before Levi’s birthday – the day before his party – and his present hadn’t come yet.  Josh thought it could still make it, but I had given up.  And you know something’s wrong with life with Josh is the optimist of our relationship.

“Maybe we should pray for it” slipped from my mouth before it was even fully thought and I was immediately embarrassed.  As if God would answer such a pitiful prayer. A meaningless request.

And yet, somehow, the thought was strengthened within me.  And I prayed.

And He answered.  It came.

For the first time in months, He had my attention.

That night, I hit my knees on our living room floor and begged His forgiveness for my absence.  My pride. My anger. My failure as a child of God and a mother to my children.

The day after Levi’s party, on his birthday, we went to church.  He wooed me fiercely with songs of a Love no sin could diminish.

The realization that it was Father’s Day brought a flood of tears as God planted the knowledge in my head that He had never left me.  I had turned my back on Him.  Unlike my earthly father, He was always there, waiting for me to open my eyes to see, my ears to hear.

I resolved to try harder.

And failed spectacularly.

But He remained with me, waiting for my eyes, my ears, to find him.

This morning, alone in a car, I cried out to him.  I didn’t understand why I couldn’t be the mother I wanted to be.  Why wasn’t He helping me?  Why couldn’t I do this?

I found myself in Romans less than an hour later.

He found me in Romans.

I found Him in Romans.

We met in Romans.

And He explained to me the concept of Faith.  Not works.  Faith.  Not trying.  Trusting. If I am a perfect mother in my own power, how does that glorify Him?

I need to let go.

I am letting go.

Let go with me.

Say it with me.

I am letting go of the heavy burden of perfect motherhood and letting the faith that Christ will fulfill his purpose in me wash over me.

Amen?