I would love to tell you that every morning I wake up before my children, pour a steaming cup of coffee, open my Bible, and spend forty-five uninterrupted minutes with Jesus while worship music softly plays in the background. That sounds absolutely lovely.
It is also absolutely not my life.
Some mornings, abiding in Christ looks less like a beautifully choreographed quiet time and more like whispering, “Jesus, I need You,” while someone is asking where their shoes are, another person needs a snack despite having just eaten, and I am reheating the same cup of coffee for the third time. Or fourth. We don’t judge here.
Motherhood is full. Our calendars are full. Our laundry baskets are full. Our sinks are full. Our brains are full of approximately 732 things we are terrified we’ll forget. And, if we’re lucky, our coffee cups are occasionally full too.
When Full Looks Different Than You Expected
But sometimes life becomes full in ways we never expected. After losing my husband, I learned that kind of fullness.
Suddenly, I was carrying roles that once belonged to two people. I was Mom and the only parent at home. I was the comforter and the disciplinarian, the appointment keeper and the bill payer. I was answering my children’s hard questions about Daddy while carrying questions of my own. There were days when I felt like I was doing well just to keep everyone fed, loved, and wearing something vaguely appropriate.
And somewhere in that season, Jesus began changing the way I understood one simple word:
Abide.
Think about that picture for a minute. A branch doesn’t wake up in the morning panicking about producing enough fruit. It doesn’t pull out its planner and write:
8:00 a.m. – BE MORE FRUITFUL.
It stays connected to the vine. The vine provides what the branch needs, and fruit grows from that connection.
Yet as moms, how often do we approach our relationship with Jesus exactly the opposite way? We try harder. We promise ourselves we’ll wake up earlier. We’ll read more. We’ll pray longer. We’ll finally finish that devotional we started approximately seventeen months ago.
Those things are good. Time in Scripture matters. Prayer matters. But they are not a spiritual performance review.
Abiding isn’t another box Jesus wants you to squeeze onto an already overcrowded to-do list.
It’s learning to live the list with Him.
What Abiding Looks Like in Real Life
Maybe abiding happens before your feet hit the floor:
Jesus, I need You today.
Maybe it’s in the school drop-off line:
Lord, give me patience.
Maybe it’s while you’re folding the tiny socks that apparently reproduce somewhere inside the dryer:
Thank You for these little feet.
Maybe it’s standing at the kitchen sink when grief catches you completely off guard:
Jesus, stay close.
Maybe it’s locking yourself in the bathroom for sixty seconds because everyone in your house suddenly needs you at the exact same time. Jesus can meet you there too.
He isn’t waiting for your house to become quiet. He isn’t waiting for your schedule to clear. And He certainly isn’t waiting for you to become a calmer, more organized, color-coded version of yourself. He says:
“Abide in me.”
Right here. Right now.
Don’t Wait for Life to Settle Down
I think many of us believe we’ll get closer to Jesus when life settles down.
When the baby sleeps.
When the kids go back to school.
When work slows down.
When the grief isn’t quite so heavy.
When we finally catch up on the laundry.
So… never?
Because motherhood has apparently not received the memo about settling down. There will always be another season. Another appointment. Another unexpected phone call. Another permission slip buried at the bottom of a backpack.
But Jesus never said, “Come back when things calm down.” He said, remain. Stay connected to Me here.
There have been days since losing my husband when I have held tightly to Jesus. And there have been days when I barely felt strong enough to reach for Him at all. But here’s what I’ve learned:
My ability to abide has never been greater than His ability to hold me.
The Vine doesn’t disappear because the branch is tired.
Whatever Your Full Looks Like
And Mama, maybe you’re tired. Maybe your days are full because you’re in a beautiful season. Maybe they’re full because you’re carrying something you never imagined carrying.
Maybe you’re married and overwhelmed. Maybe you’re parenting alone. Maybe you’re grieving. Maybe you’re in the newborn fog, the toddler tornado, or the stage where everyone in your house knows how to use the toilet but somehow nobody knows how to replace the toilet paper roll.
Whatever your full looks like, Jesus isn’t waiting for your life to become less full before He meets you. Abide right there.
In the carpool line.
At the kitchen sink.
In the laughter.
In the grief.
In the laundry.
In the middle of another very ordinary Tuesday.
You don’t need a perfect quiet time to stay connected to Jesus.
You need the Vine.
Because abiding isn’t about making more room in your schedule for Jesus. It’s realizing He’s already with you in the middle of it.
