Being a Parent: An Unexpected Introduction to Sainthood

My first and only child just turned one.

It’s been a miracle. 

And it’s been a massively uphill battle. Tears, fatigue, daycare-born illnesses, parenting conflicts with my spouse, and an estrangement from the rhythms of my former spiritual life have characterized this year.

Since my days have become dictated by a tiny human, my time isn’t my own anymore. Before my son and through my pregnancy, not only did I have free time, but I dedicated moments of my mornings and evenings to carve out practices for my walk with God. There was cadence, scripture, and quiet. There was theological study and scholarly reading.

Now, not only has my bible hardly seen the light of day for nearly a year, but my rare instances of freedom are more often absorbed by chores, errands, and occasional bouts of self-care (only when absolutely necessary). Even right now, I’m writing this post while my baby is asleep on my chest.

I’m lucky if I have time to even talk to God these days.

I have felt distance, shame, and guilt…

And yet, in a year without religious rituals, I know that I have acquired a new and surprising sort of intimacy with God, unlike anything I’ve ever known before. 

The secret lies in knowing Him in a new sort of way, as an experiential knowing. I can only attribute this new understanding of Him to my serendipitous tumbling into parenthood.

Here are some old truths in a new light that I thought I knew about God but didn’t wholly grasp the beauty and magnitude of until I became a mom.

1. God just wants to be with us. 

“Be still and know that I am God.” - Psalm 46:10

Contemplative spirituality and centering prayer practices were first explained to me as simply “being with God.” Sitting in his presence, in the quiet and still, expecting nothing—no divine words or interactions—just waiting and being. 

I struggled intensely with this. Still do. 

It’s hard for me to grasp why God would want to just “hang out” with me. Doesn’t he have a purpose, mission, or message for me? What are we doing just sitting here?

And then I began sitting with my baby. 

Much to our chagrin, in the earlier months, our son never liked to be put down. His favorite naptime nook was nestled up close to us on the couch. Otherwise, he would roll over and scream until we picked him up.

As I developed a routine of sitting with my slumbering babe, with my phone to the side, embraced together in a dimly lit room with the occasional hum of the washing machine in the background, I glance down at him, asleep, doing nothing - incapable of doing much at all. And I am filled completely with love.

He could stay that way forever, and it would never cease to amaze me. In fact, those moments often felt like they stretched into infinity.

This is how I enter into space with God now: like a sleeping baby, quiet, humble, and small, gently pulled into peace and love.

2. All emotions are sacred.

“You have collected all my tears in your bottle,

You have recorded each one in your book.” - Psalm 56:8

It’s easy to feel like God doesn’t hear us. Or, worse, that he is ignoring us. Especially when it comes to our big emotions: sadness, depression, anxiety, or fear.

Maybe this is because we are programmed to believe that our big emotions are often “wrong.” Society elevates our experiences of being happy as the best way to be; our parents raise us to be “good” children, attentive and in line. Any demonstrations of sadness or anger are automatically labeled as negative or “bad,” especially if we don’t manage our responses to these emotions appropriately. When we fail to do this, it feels like there’s something wrong with us or that we’ve messed up.

As a parent and human, I’ve messed up. Countless times in the past year (and I’m sure there will be a million more to come), I have felt my body become dysregulated when I hear my baby crying. My body tenses up, I grit my teeth, and sometimes I bellow out, “STOP!” 

My baby isn’t being “good” in these moments (which is how conscientious observers describe babies who they seldom witness cry), and my baby isn’t being happy. In these moments, my body responds to my upbringing (to be good) and what social spaces have programmed within me (to be happy), indicating that crying and big emotions are wrong.

Alternatively, when I slow down and allow patience to be felt, I’ve been able to challenge these responses that bubble up inside of me when I hear my baby’s frantic cries. I remember that this is simply how he is trying to communicate to me that something is wrong. NOT that he is wrong.

Then I remember that this is exactly what my big emotions are doing: signaling to myself and God that something is wrong. NOT that I am wrong.

When I attune myself to my baby’s emotional state in this way, my soul clears room for empathy. Suddenly, my heart breaks at the sound of his cries. 

I respond to him: “I hear you baby. I see you.” 

He may not understand what I’m saying yet, and many times, there is nothing I can do to help. Sometimes, I just have to wait out the crying in the car, at night, or in other unchangeable moments. But when I learned to honor his tears, I remember that all emotions are sacred. I know that whether or not God responds in action to what I am feeling at any given moment, he never fails to attune to me. He hears me. He sees me.

3. Our trust is desired.

“For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, ‘Do not fear; I will help you.’” - Isaiah 41:13

There are plenty of places in scripture where you can drop a finger and read the commandment to “trust in God.” 

The biggest challenge for me is the times that I have attempted this and have not seen that trust bear any fruition or rewards. In my moments of disappointment, why would I continue to put my trust in God? What’s really in it for me?

I learned from my baby that trust was not created to be so one-sided. 

I was amazed when my son first learned to raise his arms above his head to indicate that he wanted to be held. 

No one taught this to him; babies figure it out. Pretty cool.

His little fingers extended toward the heavens, with outstretched arms, and the most earnest expression bore on his face: this is my working symbol of perfect trust. Without me even having to offer a safe haven in my arms or invite him in, my baby is so ready for it that he initiates the union upon his own request. 

It’s so easy to take this gesture for granted. In my everyday going-through-the-motions, I can easily be observed waltzing around the house, passing by my baby’s outreached arms, scooping him up, then cruising right on through with him balanced on a hip as I continue to throw laundry in the hamper and wipe a Clorox wipe down the stove. 

Aside from the times when this natural reflex kicks in, there are other times when I catch a glimpse of his giant blue eyeballs gazing up at me, and I’m suddenly awestruck; I realize the weight of the outstanding privilege and honor that I (a sinner, a mess-up, a tired and mistake-prone mom) am chosen as a safe haven, and worthy of trust. 

In other words, I didn’t have to prove myself worthy of trust, bargain him for it, or win him over. He desired trust in me, and I discovered this was the only thing I needed. 

My soul beams in these moments. I wonder if God’s soul does, too, when I come to him, not out of obligation but out of perfect (or imperfect) trust.

4. God works behind the scenes.

“He has shown kindness by sending you rain from heaven and crops in their seasons; he provides you with plenty of food and fills your hearts with joy.” - Acts 14:17

Every night at 7 p.m., my baby closes his eyes, and I do everything I can to prepare for another day. 

I sweep crumbs off the floor so my baby won’t put them in his mouth.

I prepare the diaper bag for daycare or our next adventure.

I scroll Instagram for baby food-weaning recipes and spend hours meal-prepping healthy foods that will probably get thrown off the high chair or fed to the cat.

I pull tags off 12-month clothing, do laundry, wash bottles by hand with draft soap and hot water, and sanitize them if I have time.

All this and more so my baby can have everything he needs to survive and thrive. 

And he has no idea.

I’m a new parent, but I assume this will be the trend for several years. Maybe forever.

In going through these nightly motions, I’ve discovered that the art of being a parent doesn’t just lie in showing up for my kid—it also abides in the discipline of the everyday, behind-the-scenes, routine acts of lovingkindness that make his world keep turning.

I think of this, and I think of the unlimited list of things that God does every moment: acts of love and service beyond my wildest comprehension, that enable us to just live. 

Have I thanked him for bringing rain to the earth that grows trees that might be made into lumber for a future home where we might plant our roots?

Or for the perfect balance and composure of molecules in the air so that I can take a slow, deep breath every now and then?

I’m overwhelmed at the thought of it….I feel indebted to His gracious hand over me.

And yet, my baby is in no debt to me. If I had to, I would lasso the moon in for him to bring on a new day every day, and my heart would be full.

5. God wants the best for us, even if it’s not what we want for ourselves.

“You ask and you do not receive, because you ask wrongly, to spend it on your passions.” - James 4:3

On the topic of trusting God, I’ve heard it said, “His ways are higher than our ways,” “His thoughts are higher than our thoughts,” and “All things work out according to his purpose.” But from a thousand firsthand experiences, it frequently feels like God doesn’t know what He is doing.

I had a job interview once for a position that would have tripled my salary, was perfectly suited for my skillsets, and would have placed me on a team working alongside my best friend. This opportunity came at a critical time when I was desperately longing for a change, a meaningful career, and a lucrative income to begin building the life I dreamed of for my family instead of paying rent at my mom’s house and working a part-time job.

I didn’t get the position. So why even give me the interview, God? What do you know? What do you care…

I was downtrodden for a few weeks, but one dead end led me to search for new paths. 

After this, I embarked on a journey of the heart as I began to be honest with myself about not just what I wanted for the short term but also what would bring joy and fulfillment to my world in the long term.

That said, my baby is a picky eater. His first food was pureed green beans. He took one hearty spoonful, and the look of repulsion on his six-month-old face was unreal. We wanted him to start eating solid foods so badly…so we transitioned to fruits.

Now, my baby loves sweets. And snacks.

In the kitchen, I’ve turned into a secret agent stealth chef, inserting vegetables into muffins and things like that to squeeze every ounce of nutrition into him. But I also still run food representation trials on him because I know he can’t keep living the lie that his pastries are just pastries. As he smiles while putting a carrot into his mouth, then immediately spits it out, I applaud and praise him loudly with a huge smile. 

However, if I left the pantry open all day, I guarantee you that all my child would eat is yogurt bites and cheese puffs. I want him to grow strong, healthy, and embrace new foods because I know what’s best for him. I want that so badly that I will do everything I can to make it happen, even if that means slipping spinach into brownies.

My baby will soon be a toddler, then a child, then a teenager, and I know he’ll always be pulled toward his passions, what he wants, and what he thinks is best. Putting my foot down to those passions out of love will likely make me enemy number one in any number of upcoming battles of the will. But I will continue to give him what I know he needs so that he can thrive.

I thought I knew what was best for me, too. But I’m probably the last to know. As a loving mother, I look to my baby to understand how my Father feels for me, and I make the effort to surrender to trust.

6. God delights in the details.

“Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered.” - Luke 12:7

Another thing my baby doesn’t know is all the things that I love about him.

Everyone loves his deep blue eyes and his silly laugh.

I love his big top front teeth and the gap between them, which makes his smile look like a hippo’s.

I love the almost indiscernible little nail on his pinky toe.

I love how his blonde hair shines so brightly that it almost looks translucent, so much so that he still looks bald in some pictures.

I love his open-mouth breathing as he sleeps and the dazed look in his eyes when he wakes up.

If my baby had opinions, I highly doubt that any of these details about himself would be his favorite at all. 

How many things does God love about me that I haven’t noticed about myself or that I have chosen to discard?

My acne-scarred skin,

My slouch in a chair,

My dead-ends, 

My sensitivity,

My high-pitched voice…

Is it so hard to believe He loves all these things, too?

7. And finally…God rested.

“And on the seventh day God finished his work that he had done, and he rested. God blessed the seventh day and called it sacred, because on it God rested from all the work of creation.” - Genesis 2:2-3

This isn’t an insight into the Sabbath, at least not in the traditional sense.

Because confession time: Sabbath has always been a baffling concept for me. From my perspective, the practice of the Sabbath HAS to be filled with nuances. How could you possibly abstain from ALL work?

As a parent, I find this especially true. Breast or bottle feeding, calming a tired baby, cleaning up pureed squash messes on high chair trays, changing diapers, prepping clothes and food for daycare, laundry, cleaning, etc… all of this is work. 

And yet, all of these things are unavoidable when raising a child. And at least 3/4 of the above list are things that can’t be taken a break from for 24 hours every week unless you have a very dedicated sitter.

I can’t take a day off each week. But I can choose to rest. 

I can sit on the couch for five minutes, leave dishes unattended until the morning while my baby eats dry Cheerios, or snuggle on the couch with my husband tonight. 

I can learn to slow down, recognize the sacredness of an open moment, bless it, and call it holy.

These moments most frequently arrive in the early morning, twice a day during naps, and late at night. When they come and are fully embraced, restful thoughts flow in, and most often, they consist of this: “Wow, I really love my baby. I love my family. What a miracle of a life.” I’m grateful to have a God who modeled this for me. I wonder what He thought about when He rested.

See what great love the Father has heaped and poured out on us, that we should be called the children of God, and so we are!