I’m standing in the shower rinsing the conditioner out of my hair with a toddler babbling at my feet, running through this week’s dinner menu in my head. “Hmm, this meal would be better suited for this day, so what should we do instead?” or “Maybe we should save that for next week since it’s easy and we will be busy with baseball starting back up. I can work something in that may take more effort in its place.”

Being a wife and mother, running a household, it’s about the small moments like this. There’s something about it that is so deeply embedded into our brains that they never stop with thoughts about how to best care for our families, our homes, those around us. It’s as if motherhood meets us in these moments without us even realizing it’s happening. God is like that, too.

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This past year or so for our family has been full of ups and downs. Two out of three children with varying medical needs, being a working mom, and the military calling my husband away doesn’t always make for the easiest of days. But motherhood never stops. Some days it drains what feels like every last bit of life that’s left out of me. Some days it feels like it’s the only thing worth living for.

My faith has been like that, too. I’ve struggled for quite some time, going back and forth with God. Questioning if He really knows what I need, if He really cares, if He’s even really there. I run, He follows. I stop, He keeps going. I throw in the towel, He picks it up. Much like me, running after my children, picking them up, getting them to the finish line no matter what it takes. Motherhood never stops, but neither does my God. 

This past year or so, my family has been more blessed than I could have ever imagined. We received a diagnosis for one of my children that opens up a world of possibilities in terms of help we can get. We learned so much about another one of our children’s medical needs. I got offered (and accepted) not one, but two perfect for me, part-time, work-from-home positions allowing me to maximize my time with my family. My husband was never gone for too long, and even when he was, he always made it home safely.

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I read somewhere once that God meets the mothers where they need Him. That men must go to Him, but He meets the mothers. After the last year or so, I don’t think anything could convince me otherwise.  I have been met by Him more times than I could count—in the school pick-up line, scrubbing the sink, baking the bread, folding the laundry. Motherhood never stops, and neither does my God.