That first Mother’s Day with a babe in my belly was a little awkward. What could a young girl of twenty really expect? What do you expect when one turns into two and then three and before you know it, there are five in a decade? And they call you mother.

Truth is motherhood has often felt like a deconstruction.

The baby smells and sleepy feedings in the quiet of the dark, first smiles that undo you and chunky thighs. Toddler belly laughs, wobbling first steps, little hands reaching for yours.

And before you know it, you go from firsts to lasts. You put that child down one last time and never pick them up again. You read one last picture book and the next time they’re reading it on their own. You teach one more addition set and then put the workbooks away – for good. One day their toddler shoes are by the door and the next they are packing them up to build a nest of their own.

These babies have expanded your body and soul in ways you didn’t know you needed. Calling them yours has been the greatest privilege of your life and you are in awe – could you even have imagined purpose like this? And joy like this? And love like this?

It takes your breath away and you could do it all over again.
How you long to do it all over again!

Motherhood is a deconstruction.

I look back and didn’t expect to get so much wrong. I didn’t expect to see layers of me be exposed that I didn’t know needed to be surrendered. I didn’t expect motherhood to be so much about surrender.

I thought it was about right and wrong. About guidance and discernment. About wisdom and training. Control.

And it is.
But anything worth doing is only done right when surrendered – to the One that makes all things right.

I wish I could have named my demons, so they don’t have to fight them too. I wish I had tamed my tongue, so it would not have made little eyes water. I wish I had not made them carry the burden of my expectations. I wish I had loved more and paused more and let a lot more go.

I wish I surrendered more. A lot more.

Motherhood is a deconstruction. And it exposes the fear every daughter of Eve carries – the one we all fear to name: You are not enough.

It’s the same lie the enemy deceived Eve with. If she could just have one more thing – then she would be enough. Then she would have it all under control.

Motherhood teaches you that it is actually true: You are not enough. That wasn’t the lie after all. The actual lie is to believe that we can be enough – be just like God, all knowing.

Motherhood is a deconstruction. And you might realize that you have had more faith in your faith, than the One your faith is anchored in – the One that authors and perfects it.

Motherhood is a deconstruction. And when all parts are taken apart you see the truth that is written in your soul: You are not enough. And somewhere in the quiet of that you hear it: Apart from me you can do nothing. And it is well.

Because motherhood is not about control, but about laying it all at the foot of the One that is in control. It’s not about getting it all right, but surrendering it all to the One that makes it all right.

And you marvel at all you didn’t expect. You didn’t expect love like this. You didn’t expect life this full. And you didn’t expect grace to quiet all your expectations.