Our Keepsake Journal is Here! 🎉

When I was four years old, I went to Junior Kindergarten. From there, I entered into first grade and eventually, completed eighth grade. I attended high school, and from there proceeded to jump into university. After completing a Bachelor of Arts in psychology, I began a two-year Master of Social Work program. My daughter, Lily was born approximately two and a half weeks after I walked across the stage to receive my Master of Social Work degree. With that slow waddle, I walked away from the only measure of success I had ever known – that is, success measured by how well I performed academically; success scored with a grade and pinned to the refrigerator.

When Lily was born, everything changed. There was no one patting me on the back when Lily reached her developmental milestones or slapping a big “A” on my refrigerator because I chose to make my own baby food. Regardless, I poured my whole self – my time, energy, love – into this child. I loved her through the newborn cuddles, teething cries, first foods, first steps, and into toddlerhood. I did it without any measure of success, minus the occasional coo or smile that made me feel like the luckiest mama in the world.

But as Lily grows, I find myself looking in all the wrong places for measures of success. (Ahem, Pinterest.) I find myself trying to put motherhood into a box, with detailed lists of how to run my life and the lives of my girls. I find myself with to-do lists a mile long, with aims of keeping a spotless house, making three healthy meals a day, achieving financial security by managing my family’s finances well, and so on. None of these aims are inherently bad, but I find myself feeling as though I have failed before I have even begun my day.

I have always been an overachiever, a perfectionist if you will. My parents tell me that when I was in elementary school, I would lay out my clothes on the floor in the shape of a person the night before I planned to wear them. I would even go so far as to tuck the socks into the bottom of my pants and lay a hairband where my hair would be. My desire for perfection has undoubtedly carried over into my marriage and duties as a mother. I often find myself with a picture in my mind of how things should be, only to realize that the picture in my mind is that of a perfect world. It’s what motherhood would look like if sin wasn’t a part of this world. The problem then, is that my aims for myself and my family are not attainable.

The other day, I was in the grocery store with my kids. I was trying to figure out what bacon was on sale while my baby screamed and my two-year old jumped up and down in the stroller demanding a treat. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a woman, noticeably pregnant, walking through the store with five children. That’s right. FIVE. And one on the way. My jaw dropped open and my mind began whirling: “How does she do it? How does she survive?” But the fact that she had five children with her was not what caught my attention. It was the realization that she had a smile on her face. Not a fake smile, or a smile to suggest that she was just trying to make it through the day, but a genuine smile that communicated love for her children and peace with her current situation. All the way home, I was thinking, I want to be like that. I want to be genuinely happy and at peace with my current situation.

But how? How can this overachieving, perfectionist mom find joy and peace in this make-your-own-schedule, measure-your-own-success life? How can there be joy in the snotty noses, in the diaper changes, in the third load of laundry today? And that’s when I see it.

This is precisely where the joy is. It’s in the cries for mother’s tender touch, it’s in the up-at-3 A.M. to feed the baby, it’s in the bedtime routine and the scabbed knees. For too long, I have scrutinized and looked to the lives of others, the cleanliness of my home, and the latest bank statement in the effort to measure my success as a wife and as a mother. And in doing so, I’ve missed the joy that has been right here all along. May you, this very day, be able to set aside worldly measures of success and look deep into the eyes of your children to see the joy that is yours for the taking.

Image via Attribution Engine. Licensed under CC0.
So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available now!

Order Now

Check out our new Keepsake Companion Journal that pairs with our So God Made a Mother book!

Order Now
So God Made a Mother's Story Keepsake Journal

Candace Kikkert

Hi there! My name is Candace and I am, first and foremost, a daughter of the King. I am also a wife and mother to two beautiful girls under the age of two. You can often find me perusing the local thrift shop for a chance to reclaim the beauty of things thrown away and forgotten. I like to think that Christ does the same with us, as He looks past our brokenness and calls us beautiful. My hope is that the tedious and seemingly insignificant things like changing diapers, cleaning hands and faces, and preparing meals for my kids (only for them to be hungry again an hour later), will be the very things that show my girls how to be God-fearing, Jesus-loving, people-serving women. I find tremendous peace and joy in reflecting, writing and piecing together the lessons He teaches me daily. The bottom line? We all stand in need of grace.

Round 2 in the Passenger Seat is Even Harder

In: Motherhood, Teen
Teen boy behind the wheel, color photo

Here I am, once again, in the passenger seat. The driver’s side mirrors are adjusted a little higher. The seat is moved back to fit his growing teenage limbs. The rearview mirror is no longer tilted to see what’s going on in the backseat. Yellow stickers screaming “Student Driver,” are plastered to the sides of the car. The smile on his face is noticeable. The fear in mine is hard to hide. These are big moments for both of us. For him, it’s the beginning of freedom. Exiting the sidestreets of youth and accelerating full speed into the open road...

Keep Reading

Here on the Island of Autism Parenting

In: Motherhood
Son on dad's shoulders looking at sunset over water

Hey, you. Yes, you there: mom to a kid on the spectrum. Well, you and I know they’re so much more than that. But sometimes those few words seem so all-consuming. So defining. So defeating. I see you when you’re done. That was me earlier today. I had to send a picture of a broken windshield to my husband. I prefaced the picture with the text, “You’re going to be so mad.” And you know what? He saw the picture, read my text, and replied, “I love you. The windshield can be fixed. Don’t worry. Just come home.” I think,...

Keep Reading

We’re Walking the Road of Twin Loss Together

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Mother and son walk along beach holding hands

He climbed into our bed last week, holding the teddy bear that came home in his twin brother’s hospital grief box almost 10 years earlier. “Mom, I really miss my brother. And do you see that picture of me over there with you, me and his picture in your belly? It makes me really, really sad when I look at it.” A week later, he was having a bad day and said, “I wish I could trade places with my brother.” No, he’s not disturbed or mentally ill. He’s a happy-go-lucky little boy who is grieving the brother who grew...

Keep Reading

Somewhere Between Wife and Mom, There Is a Woman

In: Living, Motherhood
Woman standing alone in field smiling

Sometimes, it’s hard to remember there is a woman behind the mom. At home, you feel caught between two worlds. Mom world and wife world. Sometimes it’s hard to balance both. We don’t exactly feel sexy in our leggings and messy mom bun. We don’t feel sexy at the end of the day when we are mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted from being a mom all day. The truth is we want to feel like ourselves again. We just aren’t sure where we fit in anymore. RELATED: I Fear I’ve Lost Myself To Motherhood We know the kids only stay...

Keep Reading

Until I See You in Heaven, I’ll Cherish Precious Memories of You

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Toddler girl with bald head, color photo

Your memory floats through my mind so often that I’m often seeing two moments at once. I see the one that happened in the past, and I see the one I now live each day. These two often compete in my mind for importance. I can see you in the play of all young children. Listening to their fun, I hear your laughter clearly though others around me do not. A smile might cross my face at the funny thing you said once upon a time that is just a memory now prompted by someone else’s young child. The world...

Keep Reading

Friendship Looks Different Now That Our Kids Are Older

In: Friendship, Living, Motherhood
Two women and their teen daughters, color photo

When my kids were young and still in diapers, my friends and I used to meet up at Chick-fil-A for play dates. Our main goal was to maintain our sanity while our kids played in the play area. We’d discuss life, marriage, challenges, sleep deprivation, mom guilt, and potty-training woes. We frequently scheduled outings to prevent ourselves from going insane while staying at home. We’d take a stroll around the mall together, pushing our bulky strollers and carrying diaper bags. Our first stop was always the coffee shop where we’d order a latte (extra espresso shot) and set it in...

Keep Reading

Moms Take a Hard Look in the Mirror When Our Girls Become Tweens

In: Motherhood, Teen, Tween
Mother and tween daughter reading

We all know about mean girls. They’re in the movies we go to see, the television shows we watch, and the books we read. These fictional divas are usually exaggerated versions of the real thing: troubled cheerleaders with a couple of sidekicks following in their faux-fabulous footsteps. The truth about mean girls is more complex. Sometimes, they aren’t kids you would expect to be mean at all: the quiet girls, sweet and innocent. Maybe she’s your kid. Maybe she’s mine. As our daughters approach their teen years, we can’t help but reflect on our own. The turmoil. The heartbreak. The...

Keep Reading

A Mother’s Love is the Best Medicine

In: Kids, Motherhood
Child lying on couch under blankets, color photo

When my kids are sick, I watch them sleep and see every age they have ever been at once. The sleepless nights with a fussy toddler, the too-hot cheeks of a baby against my own skin, the clean-up duty with my husband at 3 a.m., every restless moment floods my thoughts. I can almost feel the rocking—so much rocking—and hear myself singing the same lullaby until my voice became nothing but a whisper. I can still smell the pink antibiotics in a tiny syringe. Although my babies are now six and nine years old, the minute that fever spikes, they...

Keep Reading

Here’s to the Saturday Mornings

In: Living, Motherhood
Baby in bouncer next to mama with coffee cup, color photo

Here’s to the Saturday mornings—the part of the week that kind of marks the seasons of our lives. I’ve had so many types of Saturdays, each just a glimpse of what life holds at the time. There were Saturdays spent sleeping in and putting off chores after a long week of school. And some Saturdays waking up on the floor in a friend’s living room after talking and prank calling all night. I’ve spent many Saturday mornings walking through superstitious pre-game routines on the way to the gym, eating just enough breakfast to fuel me for the game, but not...

Keep Reading

From a Veteran Special Needs Mom: Don’t Lose Hope

In: Living, Motherhood, Teen
Woman making heart symbol with hands

When my son was newly diagnosed with autism, I was reading everything—the good, the bad, and the ugly. So much so that to this day, I can barely handle reading anything on the subject because I overdosed so badly on it. I went through a grieving process as all families do. Grieving my expectations, hopes, and dreams. It was during this time that all hell broke loose. My child, like a lot of other people who experience autism, has a lot of other psychological and medical issues that interact with his autism. The combination of all those things led to...

Keep Reading