In one of their songs, the Wood Brothers sing a lyric that says,

“Sometimes I feel like I’m never and always alone.”

In some ways, I think that’s the anthem of motherhood, particularly for the mother of young children.

You’re never actually alone.  Fingertips are reaching under the door of the bathroom, for the love.  And yet the early years of motherhood can be some of the loneliest years of a mom’s life.  You remain unconvinced that anyone else really understands how hard it is to begin (and to lose) a battle with a toddler or to negotiate snack time or to change eighty bazillion diapers or to read Goodnight Moon thirteen times in one hour or to cry because you can’t imagine a time where you’ll ever be able to shower three days in a row without interruption.

You scroll across social media with your one hand while you breastfeed a baby held in your other arm.  And you pretend to believe the lie that all the pretty pictures tell you.  That all those other mommas have it together.  That their babes in fox print onesies stay that clean and tidy all the livelong day.  That their floor is actually clutter free and when they actually deign to post a “real life is messy” post you both cackle and die a little inside because their messy looks like your best day.

Yeah.  Sometimes it feels like you’re never and always alone.

I’ve started taking a parenting class my church is offering on Sunday evenings.  It’s really primarily a book study, working chapter by chapter through Paul Tripp’s Parenting: 14 Gospel Principles That Can Radically Change Your Family.

It’s basic.  And profound.

And as much as I think all parents should be reading this particular book, I understand (and I remember) that reading a parenting book while raising toddlers feels like knowing you are drowning and having a philosophical discussion about the nature of drowning and how it impacts your breathing.

It’s sometimes just too hard to live with All The Tiny People all day long and then to think theologically and deeply about what type of parent you want to be in that same decade.

Which is, actually and precisely, why you should read this book right now.

I’m just beginning the book honestly and I feel sure I’ll write a thorough review when I complete the entire thing, but something in last week’s chapter stood out to me.  For my own Right Now and for all of the sweet and beautiful young mothers I know whose Right Now is my Ten Years Ago.  (What?  How can that be?  Whatever.  I don’t have to accept this truth just because I type this truth.  My baby can’t actually be seven.  My oldest can’t actually be a young mother of whom I speak right now.  Unacceptable.)

First, there was the reminder that God doesn’t need you to be Able to parent.  He will make you Able.

Second, it was the reassuring reminder of God’s presence.  Like, his for real presence.

Tripp writes (and I add my bold),

God has called you to be a parent.  How does he give you what you need for this calling?  He gives you what you need by giving you himself, and in giving you himself, he showers his amazing, forgiving, rescuing, transforming, empowering, and wisdom-giving grace down on you. As you parent today, you are invited to remember that you are not alone in your house with your children.  Someone else walks the hallways and stands in the family room with you.  Someone rides in the van with you on the way to yet another scary trip with your kids to the mall.  Someone walks with you as you enter your teenager’s room to confront him about something he did.  Someone is with you as you relive the events of the day before you fall asleep preparing to face another parenting day.  Someone is with you as you get up, already exhausted as usual, before the sun rises.  The one who has called you to this very important job is with you and because he is, there’s hope.  Sure, there will be times when you’ll find yourself at the end of your rope, but fight fear and discouragement with expectancy; your Savior’s rope never ends, and he will never leave you alone!

There’s hope.  There is hope because you are actually not alone.

Even when it feels like – never and always – you are.

I found this truth incredibly hopeful – and wonderfully encouraging.

I was reminded of the early years with my half dozen children.  The farmhouse in Virginia that sometimes felt (and was) secluded and lonely.  Of how, even though I was married, by the nature of our joint family choices, I was frequently daily alone caring for demanding toddlers and needy infants and busy preschoolers.  And how I felt alone then.  And how I wish I had embraced the reality that I was not alone.

And now, in this house as a single parent, I feel alone.  Making decisions and having conversations and wading in deep waters.

What a perfectly timed gift for me to be reminded, that I am not, in fact, alone.

What hope.  That there is a presence going before me, around me, with me, equipping me and making me capable when I am not.

And that same presence is not exclusive to my battered old farmhouse.  It’s there for you too.  You with the teenagers staying up past midnight with their limited perspective and their big ideas.  You with the baby who has forgotten that nighttime is for rest and whose cries pierce the night like a lone wolf on a hillside.  You, my dear daughter, who is balancing school and motherhood and adult life and feeling as if you could use an extra set of hands.  You with the toddlers who is wondering if the brain fog will ever lift so you can remember who it is you used to think you were.  You with the needy kid going through that phase that seems to dictate the tone for everyone else in your house.

This hope is for you too.

It is not never and always alone.  That is the lie.

It is actually forever and always the exact opposite.

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