When contentment in our circumstances seems impossible, we can be encouraged by Paul’s example of learning to depend on Christ and find ultimate joy in him.

In the unseen, ordinary work of motherhood, we can remember that God values and rewards our faithful service.

As we teach our kids to graciously accept our “yes” and “no,” we can also train our own hearts to see God’s goodness in everything he ordains for us.

Though much of our daily life may be marked by change and challenges, our ultimate hope and purpose in motherhood remains the same—even in a pandemic. We can live faithfully in this season as we depend on the Lord and point our children to him.

No matter how many good gifts we give and receive at Christmas, it’s never enough to satisfy our children’s expectations or our own hearts. But God sent us the gift of himself in Jesus—a gift we can enjoy forever.

Motherhood is a lot of work. Some of it feels rewarding. Some of it is just necessary. What if we could learn to love the things we have to do, not just the things we want to do?

The gospel centers on surrender, and so should our lives.

When brokenness is all around us, can we still be content? Through Christ, we can.

Contentment and eagerness are two sides of the same coin.

God works all things together for good for those who love him. But sometimes, our circumstances don’t feel good, especially in seasons of suffering. How can we trust that his work in our life is good? We look to Jesus.

We often look for someone to blame when we’re confronted with our sin, don’t we? Social media is an easy target, but the internet isn’t the only thing that incites envy.

“My good-natured and ravenous son rolls out of bed each morning chanting, ‘I want oatmeal!’ Within a minute or two, I have his bowl of morning oatmeal ready. He takes the bowl in his chubby hands and says, ‘Thank you, Mommy!’

This early morning interaction is both a sweet, steady gift and a jarring deviation from other elements of my life.

My husband and I began the adoption process when our oatmeal aficionado was barely one, when all he could shriek upon waking was ‘OHMA!’ Now his third birthday has come and gone. Now his sentences have a subject and a verb. Now he’s not a baby, nor is his older sister. There’s no baby in this house, just the distinct feeling that someone is missing.

Growing a family through adoption is not the stuff of microwaves and morning oatmeal. There are no buttons I can push, no clock that counts down the time, no quick satisfaction. Instead, there’s paperwork, and there’s waiting.

The waiting feels volatile and fruitless.

...Ultimately waiting is a crucial element for God-ordained growth. Waiting is not a forgotten, fruitless place but an intentional, ordered place to which God draws us, that we might remember him and practice our faith. It’s not a lifeless place but a place of life underground. In the waiting, below the surface, seeds are undone and roots are nourished. One day there will be fruit, but for now, there is vital work, work that cannot be microwaved.

In the seemly out-of-control waiting of the adoption process, though our hearts yearn for instant satisfaction, we must remember that God isn’t a God of instant oatmeal but the Creator of precious fruit. We must take one faithful step after the other, keeping our eyes on him like the Israelites followed the pillar of fire in the dark wilderness nights. We must be patient, knowing the true work is done underground where we can’t see, soaking up every drop of the rains that come to nourish the dry soil. We must establish our hearts by resting in who God has shown himself to be in scripture: steadfast, kind, and in control.”