So God Made a Mother Collection ➔

There’s a phrase I use to describe myself on the regular. It may be cliche and overused, but I find that it really captures being human.  

Especially a human with depression and anxiety.  

Especially a Christian woman trying to navigate through so many uncertainties of her existence.  

Especially a believer who is more often than not overwhelmed with doubt and fear from the enemy.  

I am broken and bleeding. 

Of course, up untilwell, nowI avoided showing this side of myself to the world.  

I kept my smiles strong and my attitude positive. I maintained my default settings and answered, “good” and “fine” to all the “how are yous” and “how’s it goings.”  

I had to take time to reflect on why I did not allow myself to be vulnerable on the outside.  

I was not worried about what others would think of me. That part of me evolved after turning 30.  

RELATED: The Painful Truth I’m Hiding As a Mom With Anxiety

I guess I kept it hidden because I simply did not want to acknowledge it.  

I had long believed that ignoring negativity took away its power. I had lived many years insisting that denial was the best medicine. 

After all, you don’t have to feel it and deal with it if you don’t recognize it.

What a lie that was implanted into my brain by a variety of loud, evil voices born into this world to keep me focusing on my inadequacies and failures. 

The voices that told me my story did not have a place in this world. In fact, it told me my story was so irrelevant I should not even take the time to breathe life into it.  

But then there was this quieter voice.  

A calm, soothing, and peaceful one.  

A voice that told me to keep going. That my story would inspire someone on the verge of giving up. After all, there have been countless stories of hope and perseverance that have encouraged and continue to encourage me to be better. 

I would not have been able to survive in the isolating silence the enemy longed for me to surrender to without those other voices of light to combat it.  

So, I fought. And I keep fighting.  

RELATED: There is No Just “Getting Over” Anxiety, But You’ll Never Face it Alone

I find myself, more often than not, behind closed doors and blackened rooms with my eyes closed and hands clenched tightly near my heart space. My head bowed in silent prayer. Running my daydreams by an infinite Being who has only ever asked me to believe He loves me and to accept that I was worth His sacrifice.  

I am an unimpressive human on my knees looking for supernatural strength from a most impressive God.  

I am a woman saddled with uncontrollable sadness and misplaced guilt, overwhelming fears, and unexplainable doubt. But nonetheless, a woman who is working toward having the faith of a mustard seed so I can move mountains.   

These moments remind me that it is not about me. My life alone is not an inspiration and really, not more interesting than anyone else’s. 

It’s what I let Jesus do with my story that will move others to live the truth in their own lives.  

It starts with being honest and aware.  

Raw and relentless.  

It starts with realizing silence does not solve problems, and in fact, it only serves to magnify them.  

Ignoring demons does not make them disappear.

They are just lurking in the shadows of your soul waiting for the moment your defenses are down to reveal themselves. 

RELATED:  To The Mom Whose Mind Is Always Moving: I Hope You Find Stillness

I am learning that the way to defeat demons is by exposing their lies to light.  

Our demons are counting on our fear to maintain their power. We are capable of stripping it from them and putting it back into the hand where it belongs.

In doing so, we encourage others to do the same.

Silence those hard to ignore voices and keep fighting. 

Keep sharing. 


Your story matters when you tell it. 

And so does mine.

Sara Springer

Sara Springer is a story teller, child wrangler, mental health advocate and co-founder of Love Will Foundation, depression and anxiety warrior, yoga enthusiast and a staunch practitioner of sarcasm. She has decided to stick with her rebel roots and dismantle all of her social media accounts but you can find her blogging regularly at Rebel Housewife.

Dear Child, God Sees All of You—And So Do I

In: Faith, Kids, Motherhood
Mom and young son painting together

Math has always come easily to him. Even from the beginning stages when we counted wooden blocks on the living room floor, the numbers just came to him. “How many blocks are there?” I asked him, pointing to the scattered row of blocks. I expected him to count them. He was only three or four years old. “Six,” he answered promptly. “Yes . . . but how did you know that?” I asked hesitantly. He had not taken the time necessary to have counted them. “Three and three are six,” he replied. And on it went. The math came easily,...

Keep Reading

Jesus Meets Me in Motherhood With His No Matter What Love

In: Faith, Motherhood
Mother embracing daughter in sunlit room

My toddler was that kid on the playground—the one who would push and bite, erupting into a tantrum and needing to be carried home screaming. As I would carry my child to the car, the other moms looked at me with sympathy, confusion, fear, and . . . judgment.  Parents of challenging kids know this look well. We see judgment everywhere we go. I knew others were judging me, and I knew our challenges were beyond the normal bell curve, but as an overwhelmed young mom, I did all I knew to do: I blamed myself.  At my lowest, I...

Keep Reading

Dear Girl, Give Jesus Your Mess

In: Faith, Living
Woman holding Bible, color photo

Oh, dear girl, Give Jesus the mess. Your mess. The mess you think is too much or too big or too unbearable. The depths of the mess. The very worst of the mess. Lay it at His feet. He knew you long before the mess existed. Nobody knows your mess like Jesus. I assure you—this will not catch Him by surprise. Even when you do not understand, even when it is most difficult, even when you have your head buried in your hands. Praise Him, for God wastes nothing.  Even when it feels like opposition is coming at you from...

Keep Reading

A Mother’s Love Is an Endless Pursuit

In: Faith, Kids, Motherhood
Child on bike, color photo

I look at him and my heart breaks into a million little pieces. It simply hurts too much to know he hurts. He is my heart, and it squeezes and revolts when he struggles. I want to close my eyes and hold him close, and when I resurface, I want the world to be different for him. Look different, smell different, taste different. But, it remains the same, this pain.   In the beginning, when he was in my womb, I held my hands on my stomach and his tiny feet kicked me back. His bodily imprint on my skin. He...

Keep Reading

Motherhood Brings Me to the Floor and Jesus Meets Me There

In: Faith, Motherhood

I recently came across a short memoir writing competition with the theme, “Places that have made me, changed me, or inspired me.” I could write something for that, I thought. I’m by no means a jet-setter, but I do have a passport. I spent my 16th birthday in Russia on a three-week mission trip. During college, I lived in Thessaloniki, Greece for a four-month study abroad program. After my British husband and I got married, we settled in the UK, where we’ve spent the last 10 years. And now, I’m back in my sunny Florida hometown. These experiences and places...

Keep Reading

I Will Be a Friend Who Prays

In: Faith, Friendship, Living

You mentioned it casually. They had found a lump in your breast again. You’ve been here before, and maybe that means you better know how to navigate it. Except how can we possibly know how to handle such things? What emotions lie hidden behind your words? You tossed out words like lumpectomy and biopsy as if you were sharing a grocery list. I don’t know you well yet, but as you spoke the words, I had a deep desire to let you know I’m sorry. Seated around the table that night, you asked us to pray for you. I committed...

Keep Reading

I Wish I Could Tell You There Will Be No More Mean Girls

In: Faith, Kids, Motherhood
Mother and two daughters, color photo

Tonight before bed while I was tucking you in, you seemed really down. You are normally bubbly, talkative, full of laughter and life, but tonight you seemed sullen and sad. I asked what was wrong, and at first, you didn’t want to tell me. But then you shared with me what was breaking your heart. You told me about a mean girl. You told me the hurtful things she said and the unkind way she acted and the sneaky way mean girls bully by making you feel left out and less than.  It made me sad and angry. I didn’t...

Keep Reading

In the Hardest Moments of Motherhood, I’m Reminded to Look Up

In: Faith, Motherhood

It’s 3:00 in the afternoon, and you know the scene—I step on a tiny Barbie shoe as I’m walking to the sink. I shove it to the side with my foot and release a heavy sigh. I momentarily think about picking it up, but my back is aching from bending down to gather up treasures all morning. I place my half-filled coffee cup into the microwave to re-heat it for a second time. I need just an ounce of energy to get through the afternoon. My daughter heaves another basket of toys up from the basement, step by step. I can...

Keep Reading

Sometimes God’s Glory Shines Brightest in the Hardest Parts of Life

In: Faith, Living
Woman's hand with chipped nail polish

Half of the fingernails on my hands still show remnants of nail polish. It looks pretty awful. People might notice it and think, Really? You can’t take just five minutes to wipe off the chunks of color that haven’t flaked off already?  And I could. It probably wouldn’t even take five minutes. It’s not that I don’t have the time or that I’m being lazy. I just don’t want to.  You see, my daughter painted my nails almost a month ago. She’s five—they were never pretty to start with. They were sloppy with small strips at the edges left unpainted....

Keep Reading

God Tasked Us With Raising Beautiful People in a Fallen World

In: Faith, Motherhood

Today, I watched my little boy put an oven mitt over his hand and mix up an imaginary meal. Like any mother would be, I was touched to see my son enjoying himself—playing fearlessly in the Children’s Museum and exploring with many fun and creative toys. He would open the wooden fridge and purposely put a spatula in a specific compartment. Though his reasoning was not known to me—or anyone else for that matter—you could tell he had a plan for that metal spatula, and it was to be in that freezer. RELATED: The Secret No One Told Me About...

Keep Reading

 5 Secrets to Connect with Your Kids


Proven techniques to build REAL connections