To the Mom Whose Hands Are Full

If I had a nickel for every time I heard, “Man, you’ve got your hands full,” I could guiltlessly go to Target a lot more often. I hear it pretty much every time I go to the grocery store, every football game we attend, or just anytime I venture out into the world with all three in tow. You would think I had a go-to witty remark tucked into my back pocket, but instead I just laugh and say something like, “Yep. Sure do. They’re pretty sweet, though.” Lame.

Yes, my hands are full. I am usually holding at least one child and holding the hands of the other two (it’s just as awkward as it sounds). I usually have a backpack or a diaper bag or a baby doll or a half eaten granola bar, a paci, a blankie, perhaps a stuffed animal. On really great days, all of the above. There’s a good chance that no one has had their hair brushed, that one child is missing an article of clothing (usually pants), or that another is dressed like a superhero princess. There’s an excellent chance that one is crying, probably two, sometimes three, and even perhaps the whole lot of us, me included. We are a disheveled mess of a bunch. No wonder they think my hands are full.

It’s easy for me to only recognize the difficulty in having full hands, the inconveniences and challenges, the discomfort of it. It’s easy for me to see it as a negative: ugh, my hands are SO FULL. 

But the other day someone shouted to “GET TOGETHER! LET’S TAKE A PICTURE!” My kids were running around or had been scooped up by someone else and I froze. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. They were empty. I felt like holding up my bare palms to stare at them like, WHAT ARE THESE THINGS? WHAT ARE THEY CALLED? As the photographer counted “1, 2, …” I panicked. What do I do with these? Where do I put them? Do I do the chicken wing thing or stick them in my pockets (nope. definitely a bad choice.) or let them hang limply by my sides? WHY ARE ARMS SO DADGUM LONG?

I realized, I have found comfort in full hands. Children and the accessories of motherhood have become so much a part of my normal that empty hands feels more like emptiness.

And then it hit me: pretty soon, my hands will be empty. What am I going to do?

I am not a sentimental person. I’m not great at soaking things up, not because I hate my present stage but because I get so lost in my everyday. But man, as I was looking at that picture of myself later I couldn’t help but stare at my empty hands just … hanging there, kidless. And I got so emotional.

Our lives are defined by seasons. As sure as the mama bear comes out of hibernation, we mamas are going to reemerge from these caves we’ve been cooped up in for what feels like forever.

But it’s not forever. It’s a very short season.

We are so close to returning to civilization, our hands totally free. They will no longer be filled with a tiny hand as you cross the street or with that squishy little body in the rocking chair; we won’t have to use them to spoon-feed a mouth or turn the pages of a book; we won’t use them to haul around a bag full of 18,000 essentials or to clean up twice as many messes. Someday, we will be able to leave the house without tying everyone’s shoes, brushing everyone’s hair (optional*), and buckling everyone’s seatbelt. Just like all seasons do, this one will end.

 

Then what? What will we do with our hands?

Pray.

We will pray that we didn’t totally jack them up, that the foundation we laid was solid. We will pray that they acquire equal parts selflessness and boldness. We we will pray for their safety because this world is terrifying sometimes, and then cry out for God to take that fear away because it is not from him.

Raise them high.

We will praise him that he picked us for this job. We will thank him for helping us survive that crap shoot. We will reach high, hoping to feel his grace pour over us and cover all the many doubts we have about how well we did, and then let him remind us of all the things we did SO well.

Reach out and serve.

God uses our current seasons to prepare us for our next. If there is anything motherhood prepares you for, it’s laying down your wants to serve the needs of others. We have honed valuable skills, one being finding a way to love people that prove themselves very unloveable at times. That, my friends, is essential in the real world.

 

Yes, my hands are full. Your hands are probably full, too. But they will only be full for so long. So as we bend over to pick up another pair of dirty underwear off the floor, another toy that stabbed the bottom of our foot, another crying baby out of the crib, let us cherish that load they carry now.

 

 

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