Last weekend we went to a Saturday night service at church, and by the end of the night I was exhausted, overstimulated, and honestly just ready to go home and shower.
It started with dropping Josiah off in the toddler class. He was actually excited about it at first. The week before we had taken the boys to their school open house and he loved pretending he was a student, so when we talked about church we leaned into that idea. We told him he would get to “go see his classmates.” There’s even a little slide the kids can use to enter the classroom, which made it feel fun and exciting.
But Mark and I made a mistake.
We never actually explained that we were going to leave him there.
The drop-off area was chaotic. Parents were everywhere, kids were climbing the stairs to the slide, and there was a bubble machine going. Josiah went in excited, but once he realized we weren’t staying he looked confused. Mark and I stood outside for a moment, watching through the door without letting him see us. He wasn’t crying yet, but he looked lost.
At one point he called for Daddy.
Then I heard him call for Mommy.
That’s when my heart sank.
We went into the sanctuary anyway and worship had just started. And honestly, it was beautiful. I really felt the presence of the Holy Spirit during that time.
But right at the end of worship, we got the text asking us to come pick up Josiah.
When Mark walked back in with him, his eyes were swollen and puffy. He had clearly been crying. The teacher said he had been uneasy and upset. Mom guilt hit instantly. It was only his second time trying that class, and the first time had been a year ago. I realized afterward that we really should have done a better job preparing him for what was going to happen.
But the night wasn’t over yet.
A few minutes later Josiah told me he needed to go potty. Public bathrooms have always been a big anxiety trigger for me when it comes to my kids. I’ve never liked them using them if we can avoid it. Normally if we’re out somewhere, the boys will pee in bottles or somewhere private outside.
So my anxiety was already creeping up when he told me he had to go.
I tried improvising with one of Michaela’s diapers, thinking we could handle it quickly and quietly. Except I didn’t pull his pants down far enough, so the diaper caught some of it… and his pants caught the rest.
More mom guilt.
Thankfully he didn’t seem to care at all. There were cookies in the foyer and that helped him recover quickly. But not long after that he said the words every parent dreads when they’re out in public.
“I have to poop.”
I tried convincing him to wait until we got home, but he kept insisting he was going to have an accident. So I handed Michaela to Mark and took Josiah into the bathroom.
If you’ve ever taken a small child into a public restroom, you know the problem: kids are short, which means they touch absolutely everything.
We got through the bathroom situation and went to wash his hands. As he stepped down from the stool at the sink, he fell… right next to a stall that had a big “Do Not Use” sign on it, with paper towels and some mystery brown liquid on the floor.
Internally, I lost my ever-loving mind.
I didn’t yell, but I did say, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I turned him around and scrubbed him again like a surgeon preparing for surgery. Mom anxiety was officially in full swing.
By the time we left that bathroom, I just felt gross and overstimulated.
After church, Mark got stopped by someone who kindly offered to help watch our kids sometime if we ever needed it. She meant well, but in my head I was just thinking, I really just want to go home.
We ended up going through the In-N-Out drive-through for dinner, and the whole time I was thinking about getting home and taking a shower.
When we finally did get home, Josiah and I basically reset the night by stepping into the shower together. Clean kid. Clean mom. Emotional reset.
And the whole evening made me think about something.
As a mom, you can be standing in worship feeling deeply connected to God… and five minutes later be dealing with soaked pants, bathroom disasters, and a toddler meltdown. The sacred and the chaotic can exist in the very same moment.
The truth is, life with kids rarely feels neat or peaceful. It’s messy. We react when we wish we had responded calmly. We get overwhelmed. We stumble through moments we wish we had handled better.
And yet God meets us there too.
Scripture says:
“The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love.”
— Psalm 103:8
Sometimes we expect faith to feel peaceful and put together. But more often than not, it looks a lot like motherhood: unpredictable, messy, and full of moments where we have to begin again.
And maybe that’s the lesson.
Not getting everything right.
But remembering that God resets with us again and again with grace.
Just like we do with our kids.
If you’ve ever felt like motherhood keeps you in survival mode, you might relate to this post too.
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