It’s 3am and I’m awoken by the sound of my ten month old crying. I pause for a few minutes and realize that it’s his hunger cry. I sleepily pull myself out of bed and walk across the hall to his room. After he has nursed for a few minutes, I crawl back into bed hoping I’m not woken again before my alarm goes off.

By 6:25am, I realize I’ve been hitting snooze on my alarm for almost half an hour and muster the energy to bring myself downstairs for coffee. I greet my husband who didn’t hear a peep last night and slept great. Good for him I grump to myself. I go back upstairs and spend my remaining 30 minutes reading my Bible and in prayer before the boys wake. I re-read Philipians 2 & 4, knowing that I desperately need the reminder of Jesus’ sacrifice, and Paul’s command to rejoice always.

At 7am, I breastfeed again and get my ten month old up, while Matt wakes our 3 year old, Aiden. After a little play time in Aiden’s room as a family, I head downstairs to pump while Matt gets the boys changed and down the stairs. In the midst of us preparing breakfast, Aiden has decided he does not want to obey and begins throwing toys around the living room. While he grins and laughs, I angrily pick him up and put him in time out in his booster seat.

It’s at this point in the morning, at approximately 7:45am, that I realize my best hopes at being a “good mom” have been shattered for the day. I didn’t get enough sleep. I’m jealous that my husband did. I snapped at him for not hearing the 3am cry, for not being able to breastfeed, for not understanding the emotional weight that breastfeeding brings, for getting more time with Jesus than I did because he was refreshed enough to wake early. I have become easily angered by my toddler and unable to show empathy for why he might be acting out. Instead of rejoicing that this scene is my day to day, I am frustrated and complaining, dreaming of a day off or a vacation somewhere on a beach where I’m not needed every second of the day.

This scene is one that happens all too often in our house. And it’s one that daily reminds me of my need for grace. Because if I wasn’t forgiven, if I didn’t have the Holy Spirit, I would consider the day a loss. My negativity would spiral (and sometimes it does for a bit if I’m honest), and I would drudge through the rest of the day until I could go to sleep and attempt to reset. But thankfully, not only are God’s mercies renewed each morning, they are also renewed in the brief breath prayers we take as we pause and say a quick “Jesus, please help me” before we snap at our husband, or speak a harsh word to our toddler.

His grace is always there for us, wooing us back to His love and His life–enabling us to know that we are loved. Even in our sleepy, grumpy, complainy, angry state, we are loved. And the receiving of that love changes something in us. for us. Because we have received such lavish grace we can give it.

I can be happy that my husband got a good night’s sleep even if I didn’t. I can be grateful that I get the chance to breastfeed, even if it means I get woken up in the night and am the only one who can do something about it. I can rejoice that I have a toddler who I get to shepherd, even if he is throwing things across the room and ignoring my invitations to obedience.

To be a mom is to give and receive grace. I don’t know how to do it any other way. If by 7:45am, I can already be at odds with everyone in my household and somehow still need to press on for another 12 hours, only the extravagant love of Jesus can meet me in my desperation and give me what I need. A renewed mind, eyes to see like He does, a willingness to say I’m sorry. So that by 8am, rather than giving in to the voice in my head that says you blew it. You just aren’t a good mom, today, I can listen to another Voice, the one that speaks truth in love and woos me back. It’s true, many days I am not “a good mom” in my own right, but by His grace & power, I am learning to be.

If this scene resonates all too well for you, and you are curious about how Jesus could meet you in the struggles of motherhood, let me know. I’d love to talk.