Hope for the Weary Mom

Guest Post: Morgan Monteverde

Grace Thomas

and

Morgan Monteverde

Mar 07, 2024

bear on bed inside room — Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

She was screaming again.

I thought back to before it all unraveled. She was the last of the three to tuck in for the night, making her the only one standing in the way of a hot shower and some much-needed adult conversation. I had prayed over her, sang over her, and rehearsed our nightly routine full of stories, giggles, and snuggles. I made every effort to take my time and be present with her—fighting the familiar urge to toss her into bed and shut the door as fast as possible. Fighting not to make it about me. Fighting not to play the martyr, ready for my trophy at the end of a long day.

So far, all is quiet, so I delay my shower a bit longer to clean the rest of the kitchen with my husband. Savvy, our four-year-old, pops out for a few more hugs and kisses—testing her freedom, curious about what grown-ups do after 8 PM. I rub my shoulders and walk toward my bedroom—my shower so close I can almost feel the scalding water on my skin. I stop at the nursery door to listen for our son and see it. Out of the corner of my eye, light spills out from beneath Marlo’s door into the dark hallway.

Lord, why?

Rage floods my body from head to toe, and heat radiates from my cheeks. I try to breathe, pray, do something, anything to calm down. The rage morphs into dread as I think about the never-ending cycle of meltdowns about to ensue (again). I want to punch a wall because this isn’t about her defiant disobedience anymore. It’s about what’s standing between me and my shower.

Her disregard for our repeated instruction night after night deeply offends me. I thought we’d been so clear and concise. Didn’t we have a grip on the situation? I had hoped tonight might be different.

I felt I had earned the right to be done parenting by eight o’clock sharp.

My resolve dwindling, I burst into my three-year-old’s room a different version of myself. Who am I kidding? I am a martyr. I’ve done my part for the day. Sayonara sister, I’m off the clock.

Despite my best efforts, I made her disobedience about me. I flew into her room, confiscated her toys, flipped the light off, blurted something about rest through gritted teeth, and shut the door behind me. Enter screaming.

Leaning In

Moms, we are weary, no doubt—but what if we are viewing these moments all wrong? What if we see our children’s defiant moments as opportunities instead of massive inconveniences? Opportunities to lean in instead of clock out. Rather than viewing our children as an adversity, we could ask the Lord to help us pursue their hearts in the midst of the meltdown.

That’s where he meets us—in our darkest moments, in the midst of our mess and sin [1].

That night, when my body was hot with anger and exhausted by the day, I missed an opportunity to lean in and gently pursue my daughter’s soul. I need the Lord’s guidance to produce the heart change I desire for my kids.

My daughter is three, and lives in egocentric bliss. She saw something she wanted to play with, and acted on it. I’m not justifying her disobedience, but her disobedience is not about me. This is not a calculated attack on my evening of freedom. She disobeyed because she wants her way, just like me.

Admitting Wrong

The truth is—I see myself in my daughter’s reaction to correction. I see my refusal to admit wrong in her resolve to get louder and louder until her screams must be answered. I see my dejection in her red face and puffy eyes.

Like my daughter, I have fallen short of God’s glory [2]. My tantrums may look different than hers, but I have my versions of kicking and screaming—bucking up against the will of God when it doesn’t jive with my plans.

But grace.

Scripture tells us, “From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace” (John 1:16, ESV), meaning his grace never runs out for his children. The grace he freely offers me is the same grace the Lord is tenderly nudging me to extend to my daughter. It’s grace that doesn’t focus on how “good” or “bad” of a job I do as a mom. I am unable, desperate, weak, and frail—yet he invites me to be a tool of grace in her life.

Tools of Grace

How do we become tools of grace in the lives of our children?

We lean in and love as Jesus loves without condition. We model sanctification under our children’s watchful gaze. We humbly acknowledge our lack of control and limited human capacity while pointing them to the one who redeems it all.

We repent with godly grief over our sin, bidding our children to do the same.

We ask for faith when our maternal decisions breed pain and give him every ounce of glory when they yield fruit.

We believe his victory on the cross was enough and trust that he who began a good work in us will “bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ” (Philippians 1:6, ESV).

An hour later, as the screams begin to weaken to hoarse whimpers, I move toward my daughter’s door. I knock softly, run to her bedside, and gather her in my arms. I confess my misplaced anger and ask for forgiveness. Holding onto one another, we sing the lyrics of her favorite song as she drifts off to sleep:

“All these pieces broken and scattered

in mercy gathered

mended and whole

empty-handed but not forsaken

I’ve been set free

Amazing Grace

How sweet the sound

That saved a wretch like me

I once was lost

But now I am found

Was blind but now I see

I can see it now