At the very beginning of doing what Jesus came to do on earth, people came to Him in droves. As word of His abilities got out, He was greeted at each town with the weakest of humanity - the terminally ill, the disabled, the diseased, the blind, the bleeding, the leprous, the crazy ones, the prostitutes, the cheating tax collectors. He was sought out unceasingly, to the point that He sometimes stayed “in the lonely places” (Luke 5:16), and still people sought Him out. They found Him, because they needed Him.  

There are moments, in this season of young motherhood, that I too seek out the lonely places, like the back of my pantry where the chocolate is kept. In this season, in this home, there is unceasing need. Each day I am greeted by people who need diaper changes, and then milk, and then breakfast, and so the day continues, with rapid-fire needs, coming one after the other, directed at me. My children look to me for the simplest of needs - I pull on their shoes, pull up their pants, find missing pacifiers, administer medicine; I cut the grilled cheese in triangles, not squares. And they need me in deeper ways - to put down my lists and sit on the floor and do the same puzzles over and over again, to stop chopping vegetables and hear them when they say bup? and pick them up. They need me to listen to their stories and tell them my own, and they need me to be available. They need me to listen as they regale me with the details of their victories in Mario Kart and to answer their questions even when they should have been asleep an hour ago. They need me in the middle of the night, for wet beds or bad dreams or fevers.

Sometimes in the midst of this hurricane of need, I feel like I am losing parts of myself, most notably my mind: parts that were organized and productive, parts that could read a really complex book and then talk about it for days, which have now gone by the way of skinny jeans - once useful assets, now outdated and underutilized. I used to wear makeup, and I kid you not, the last time I pulled a makeup brush out, it had a dust bunny on it. I used to be fit. I used to have energy. But so much of this simply cannot be the priority right now. 

In all of this loss, there can be such a tangible refining. It starts with pregnancy. Suddenly, your body is not entirely your own. And you are eating and drinking (or not drinking) for the benefit of this other person, whose needs are instantly more important than yours. And then they come out, and you would move mountains to meet their needs, and you are spending your entire morning getting everyone ready for church and packing diaper bags with snacks and coloring books and water bottles and diapers, and suddenly it is 9:50 a.m., and you have three minutes to shower, dress, do something with your hair, eat, and grab a cup of coffee on your way out the door, and it dawns on you, that your needs always come last. 

But there is such closeness to Christ there if we can rest in that rather than resent it. 

I come to Him daily with my droves of needs, with the worst of me. I sneak down the halls of this creaky-floored house, eager for a moment of quiet with my Shepherd. Coffee in hand, I message him like a wartime captain over the radio: Need Patience. Need Peace. Need Sleep. Over.  I plead with Him to heal the broken parts of me, to renew my Spirit, to help the people I love so much. My need for Him is ceaseless, and I am thankful that He is enough, that He does not stay out the lonely spaces, but actually comes to Me, comes to us, and tells us plainly, that He came to the sick because they need healing, He is drawn to the broken because He is the Fixer. (Mark 2:17)

Mamas, with eachneedyou meet today, rejoice in the God who specifically came to earth not to see us at our best, but to see us at our worst, who welcomes us to cast our heaviest burdens on him, who assures us of his care (I Peter 5:7), who gently leads his ewes who are heavy with young (Isaiah 40:11) because He knows we are slow and running five minutes late because we are carrying car seats and diaper bags and a toddler who is insisting on two different shoes. Come to him with your needs, and know that your God is waiting to meet you in each and every one.

Links to other posts in this series:

Part 1: Breathe
Part 2: Rest
Part 3: Need
Part 4: Mourn & Rejoice