On embracing interruption in a world that’s starved of time.
Meltdowns.
Breakdowns.
Tears!
Hot. Angry. Tears.
Deadlines missed.
Sentences unfinish–
Dishes!
So. Many. Dishes.
Clothed in snot.
Dinner goes cold.
Husband eats first,*
Her overwhelm, I hold.
When calm finally comes,
she cups my weary face,
whispers with a giggle:
“I’m here for you.”
Baby, who taught you that?
“Mummy!” she replies.
Surprised, emptied,
we pray.
I’m not quite sure
what I achieved today,
but if there’s truly a time
for all things under the sun,
then the dishes and
deadlines can wait.
I’m here for you.
(I remind my hurried heart)
Today, what matters is:
I’m here.
Here For You // May 2024
* Husband eats first so he can take over to feed and bathe her after the tantrum is over. I thought context was important here. 😉
It’s Flu Season in Australia, which means for most households with young children, the snot is thick, tensions are high and complaints are rife. My family’s run with repeated sickness began over Easter. My toddler caught the first virus, and inevitably, my husband and I fell like dominoes. Snotty, sleep-deprived and forced into self-isolation, flu season has been a long and lonely battle.
To avoid spreading germs this week, I took my daughter to deserted parks instead of shopping centres. Some people feel buzzed and refreshed in nature. I’m not that kind of person. Talking to a duck and a bag of rocks didn’t quite hit the spot, but it helped me to better understand Tom Hanks and Wilson’s friendship in Castaway.
I can’t imagine how parents felt during the COVID lockdowns, but I can see why so many struggled with loneliness, postpartum anxiety and depression, and a lack of meaning and purpose. I now know the disappointment of missing important events and milestones. I now empathise with the white-knuckled exhaustion of not having Sick Leave as a parent. With a pounding headache and unrelenting cough, I still have to drag myself out of bed to tend to toddler tantrums, write Bible studies, and meeting work deadlines. Feeling resentful, helpless, and at wit’s end, I wrote the introductory poem, Here For You.
I write this not to pile on parenting, but to speak truth into a space that can be over glamourized, and especially so in faith circles. It can be hard for Moms to admit their resentment, in fear of being judged for being ungrateful, unworthy, or ungodly. In a filtered world run by “Boss Babes” and “Instagram Moms”, I believe the next generation of Moms (and Dads) need to be equipped with right expectations, and a theology of eternity and endurance for tough times.
My friend once described parenting as a paradox of emotions, where joy and despair, stress and satisfaction can coexist and be felt simultaneously. I never understood how this could be possible, until I became a mother myself. The truth is, like any work after the Fall, even the gift of parenting has been cursed with thorns and thistles.
For me personally…
- Motherhood can feel futile—a sum total of mundane and repetitive tasks, leading to nowhere and with no finish line in sight.
- Motherhood is exhausting—a call to carry the physical, emotional and spiritual load of raising a child—all while running on little to no sleep.
- Motherhood is overwhelming and overstimulating—a never-ending mental load of urgent, important and conflicting tasks.
- Motherhood can feel invisible—a resume of unseen and behind-the-scenes work, without thanks, trophies or salary packages.
As much as I genuinely thank God for the gift of my daughter, I wrestle daily with the longing for greener pastures—an escape from home duties—free from roaring tantrums, never-ending mess, and failed nap times. I miss predictable days in the office—a place where I feel competent, productive, and in control of my schedule. I miss my “Me Time” where I can rest, think, and write without time constraints.
As someone who values empty sinks and getting things done, God has used flu season to spotlight my imperfect love, stained by a heart of impatience. It’s forced me to reexamine my once held belief that children are an “interruption” to my work and ministry. Instead, God has been reminding me that in this season, my child’s interruptions are my ministry—opportunities to model the patience and presence of an unhurried God, in a world that’s starved of time.
In a world of hustle and hurry, I believe there is great power in a patient and present spirit. Is it a coincidence that “patience” is the first descriptor of godly love (1 Corinthians 13:4), or that we’re called to “walk” in the way of love (Ephesians 5:2) as opposed to hurry, run, or sprint?
It’s clear from the gospels that Jesus was always patient with human neediness, and he never ministered to others with a hurried heart. Jesus knows our creaturely needs for daily bread, love, healing and salvation—and he welcomes our interruptions with compassion and mercy.
I think of the time where Jesus accepts an interruption from the Bleeding Woman while he was on the way to see Jairus the Pharisee. In doing so, he shows priority to the needs of a social outcast, despite being hurried towards the Pharisee—a spiritual leader of greater social value. I think of his favoring of “faithful and teachable” Mary over the “productive and efficient” Martha. I think of his enduring and gracious patience towards an inner-circle who were forgetful, fickle, and faithless. I think of his welcoming of children in a culture that shooed them away.
I sometimes struggle with home duties, because compared to my work outside of the home, parenting can feel slow, repetitive, and invisible. What I’m learning as a stay-at-home Mom is that Jesus redefines productivity; showing me that invisible work can be invaluable. I am learning that patiently tending to the interruptions of snotty noses and temper tantrums is never in vain, for God can use ordinary work to produce eternal fruit—both in my toddler’s heart and mine.
- I am learning that every tantrum is an opportunity to image God—the perfect parent—who is patient, slow to anger, gentle and compassionate to our earthly needs.
- I am learning that every difficult conversation is an opportunity to model transformative grace. There is a difference between demanding generosity and kindness from your child, and patiently (and prayerfully) pointing them to the One with power to transform a greedy and unkind heart.
- I am learning to apologize for my impatience and misplaced frustration, and in doing so, showing my daughter that it’s ok to confess weakness, and that even
Mummy is a sinner in need of grace and forgiveness. - I am learning to accept that every hour—whether seamless or chaotic—can be repurposed for good by the One who establishes the outcomes of our plans (Proverbs 16:9). Instead of resenting interruptions and cancellations, I am learning to live within the boundaries of God’s providence and to prioritise work of eternal value.
The story of motherhood may start with a curse, but God promises that it will end with renewal and redemption. Green pastures await—a better Garden free from thorns and thistles, tears and sickness, futility and impatience. This is my hope on hard days. I persevere because I am certain that the moment I step into Eternity, I will breathe a sigh of relief for any effort I ever made to embrace interruptions with patience and presence; to have walked in love with faith and endurance. This isn’t just a truth for motherhood, but for all of life.
Today, my toddler still needs me in ways that she won’t tomorrow. So if there’s truly a time for all things under the sun, then today, the dishes and deadlines can wait.
Written by Heidi Tai
heiditaiwrites@gmail.com
Photo Credit: Catt Liu