Outnumbered: Learning to Embrace the Boundary Lines God Has Drawn

When people ask how the transition has been to two-under-two, my general response is that I’ve never felt so finite.  

How often are there two hungry tummies that need to be fed, two crying babies that need to be comforted, two sets of eyes that need to feel seen and be told “You are so loved and oh-so-very special to me”—yet only one (sometimes also crying) mommy? Try as I may to set up intriguing independent play activities, to place snacks and sippy cups at the ready, to have bottles and books patiently waiting in their rightful spots after naptime—no amount of planning, efficiency, or clever Amazon purchases will ever solve my core problem: there are two of them but only one of me.

Limits: A Reality

Yet, for whatever reason, God has woven limits like these into our human families. Sometimes pregnancies, births, and postpartum seasons are closely stacked together. Our children arrive incredibly dependent on us—not for mere weeks or months like other species but across many ages and stages. And, despite all my hopes and dreams, our energy and capacity don’t magically expand when we suddenly find ourselves with multiple children. Still bound by space and time and the limits of our human bodies, we must reside in one place at one time and still require all the food, water, and (at least most of the) sleep we needed before.

So in this season, God has been gently reminding me of my humanity. I need rest. I need quiet. I need margin. I need more than that, of course. Sometimes I also “need” queso or to have an adult conversation while my children nap for an extra fifteen minutes. But in all of it, I am human, and he is God. I am finite; he is infinite. I see part; he sees the whole. I am the grass that withers; he is forever. 

Psalm 16 says, “The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places” (Ps. 16:6a).  These bounds that we have as humans—that we are mortal and finite, that we see only snippets of the grand story God is architecting—what does it look like to accept these boundaries joyfully as opposed to fighting against them? To believe that our boundaries, though inconvenient at times, are not bad or even random, but that they are for our good and have been purposefully defined with our flourishing in mind?

Limits: An Invitation

Which brings me to the question: Are my limits actually invitations in disguise? 

Are these borders not just guidance regarding where I ought to tread (and avoid) but an opportunity to remember the good God who defined the boundary lines in the first place? Similarly, it is this good, boundary-drawing God himself who makes my “lot secure,” rather than me (Ps. 16:5b, NIV). After all, if two little bodies who collectively weigh under thirty-five pounds can tempt me to second guess my cooking, my physical capabilities, and the soundness of my judgment in forty-five minutes flat, it should come as a welcome relief to unreservedly rely on the Lord for my security—as opposed to my own strength. 

Are my boundaries actually a reminder to surrender? These limits I have of space, time, and capacity are real: I can either exhaust myself trying to deny them, or I can opt to learn their contours. Though I will seek to steward my motherhood faithfully, I cannot tend to every cry. I cannot prevent every wail. I will sometimes be the source of everyone’s collective discomfort. But as I am learning to receive these limits, the boundary lines God has drawn for me, I’m also learning to remember that they do not equate to my failure—limits simply point me to the throne of grace, where I can joyfully look upon the God who has none.

For these reasons, my limits invite me to worship. Because in seeing my boundaries, I am reminded of the God who is boundless. Boundless not only in his power, knowledge, and majesty—but just as importantly, in his goodness, kindness, and love. A God who can be in all places at all times, holding each of us in his mighty but merciful hands. 

Better still, this all-powerful, all-knowing, ever-majestic God willingly took our limits upon himself in Christ—so that, among other things, we could come to know his limitless love even more. Just as he has marked the boundary lines of our lives, so too has he drawn the details of our “beautiful inheritance” with him in eternity (Ps. 16:6b). 

I stand in awe.

So, as I learn how to navigate life as a newly minted mother of two-under-two, I’m reminded to embrace the boundary lines God has drawn for me. These limits are not my enemies but his gracious provision, as they draw me ever closer to him.

May I learn to receive my current reality of one mommy and two babies with gratitude. And to rest in the fact that at all times, chaotic or still, my sovereign Lord has me ever so securely in his hands. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places because he has drawn them. Just as I do with my babies, but so much better, my Father sees me, nourishes me, and soothes me. He gently reminds me that I am loved and oh-so-very special to him, as I rock my babies to sleep (but only one at a time).