I try to focus on parenting my children with the gospel in mind and my eyes on Jesus the whole time, but I fail regularly. Thankfully, I have grace and mercy from God and a helpmate in my husband, and I’m able to try better each time.

One of the things I’ve been focusing on lately is when it comes to extending what’s been extended to me (grace, mercy, love, forgiveness, etc.), I struggle to extend in the same way to my children. It’s like I’ve been given some leeway after acting up, but I expect everyone else to act perfectly all the time around me. That’s hard to admit: I think I’m good at displaying mercy (not getting a punishment you deserve), but I’ve become increasingly aware of my need to extend more grace (getting a gift you don’t deserve).

Sunday May 13, 2018, is Mother’s Day in the USA. Mother’s Day, originally established after the Civil War to honor mothers who had lost their sons in the war, brings me #allthefeels, particularly in the last 4 years. As moms, we are constantly weighing all the pros and cons of every situation. We have to try to see into the future and anticipate it, for all the problems and things that might happen. It’s our job when we are responsible for keeping tiny humans alive, and that takes up a lot of space in our heads, hearts, and lives.

As a result, we sometimes forget about self-care or to deal with our own junk. Mother’s Day comes, and then all of that comes crashing together. Hence, #allthefeels.

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In September 2015 I began attending a MOPS (Mothers of Pre Schoolers) group near my house. It was hosted by a local church, but not the church we called home. I attended for about a year (well, 2 semesters), but in May 2016 when the year ended, the leader stepped down and a new leader could not be found (and MOPS appeared to have taken several steps away from their roots as a gospel-centered ministry), and the ministry at that church disbanded. It was then that I began to realize I couldn’t possibly be the only mom at my church who felt the need for this vital ministry and fellowship.

The other night I had dinner with the sweetest couple whose son was stillborn in August. Their desire to show compassion to others, their new outlook on life in spite of their grief, and their growing love for each other were inspiring. My heart was heavy, yet full. I cried when I stood in his nursery, complete but never used for its intended purpose.

They are living my nightmare, yet they are more than surviving. They are healing, at their exact right pace, and they are doing it with grace. I intended to bless them with a meal and friendship, and in their tragedy, they ministered to me. Grief is funny that way.