Ruth Clemence – Writer and Blogger

It was the end of the church service. People were mingling in the foyer and catching up. Children were chasing one another and parents were practicing the art of one eye on their child and the other on the person in front of them.

I stand there trying to keep one eye on my littlest who is adventurous. But I cannot ignore this sense of overwhelm flooding my soul. My dear son was welling up with tears, and struggled from the moment we arrived at church and what felt like every minute after. Are my senses overloaded by all of the noise and chatter? Or is it my internal monologue complete with marching band performing several rounds of ‘you’re a bad parent’ and ‘why isn’t my child like those children’? It’s getting louder in my head. Knowing me, it’s a combination of things. Inside I want to cry.

I clock my dear friend at the end of the service who also knows what it’s like to be overwhelmed as a mother who has children with additional needs. Seeing her gives me an immense feeling of relief as I sink into a hug, and know that she knows. As her children climb for her attention, my son is nearby, frustrated at his expectations of not joining in with other children at church in the way he wants to. Trying to understand the heart of the matter is half the struggle. What is he thinking? How is he feeling? What can I do to explain in a way that reaches his heart? Am I being too hard or too soft on him? How can I fix this?

All the while, life at church goes on. A dear lady genuinely asks how I am really. I say fine, and almost immediately regret it because I am clearly not OK. When someone actually takes the time to check in you have an opportunity to share. Yet, my memory is so fuzzy that I forget what is really going on underneath the overwhelm. It’s so hard to pinpoint exactly why I feel like I’m sinking in that moment. Also, the inner monologue and marching band like to throw in a chorus of ‘you talk too much about your issues with people’.

The answer is that there are so many things going on as a parent, managing additional needs and daily life, that to begin to explain that to someone in passing is an exhausting thought. Where to begin?

It’s not an easy road. Some days I’m really tired. Just a few years ago I had intense high-dose chemotherapy which has kicked my body into hormonal changes that I am literally finding out about as I go. That’s on top of all the other stuff. Nobody really sees what is going on inside, whether that’s a physical change, a spiritual struggle, a mental battle, or an emotional hurdle.

Yet, God uses all of those hard things to draw us closer to Himself. It is humbling, heavy, and heart-wrenching at times. But it’s needed. Without the trials, I would be running on the fuel of self-sufficiency. Self-suffiency often leads to breakdown as I come to the end of myself, and once again realise I am not in control of my life or anyone else’s.

Rather than God leaving me like a broken-down vehicle at the side of the road, He is the mechanic of my soul, coming alongside to tow me into the beauty of His presence. Sometimes, mothers have meltdowns too. And we need Jesus. We need Him to carry us as we surrender, knowing that He will bring us to where He wants us to be, because He loves us.

As I am reminded of God’s faithfulness and love for me, I know that His grace is sufficient in all things. Even the hard things. And the very hard things. And the unceasing challenges. His strength is made perfect in weakness. I can rejoice knowing that He is sovereign, He is Lord, and He has a plan and a purpose for my life and the lives of my children. We can rest in the Mighty Mechanic, God Almighty, who repairs and restores, cleans and cares, and checks and rechecks to make sure we are running well, for our good and His glory.

Read more Mustard Seed Mum posts here.