Will God meet me still?
The spiritual wilderness of motherhood and other life changes
‘I haven’t had any powerful encounters with God since I became a mum,’ she shared sadly as I sat 6 months pregnant on her sofa.
I was sorting through some baby clothes she was passing to me. I paused a little, holding a pink baby grow in my hands, before folding it up and placing it into my ‘probably not pile’.
‘I felt God say that he meets me in the small everyday ways instead,’ she continued, ‘I guess that is just how it is in this season.’
She seemed sad about it, but determined to share, like she wanted to prepare me for what was to come.
I murmured a sound to reassure her that I was listening. But I held her words in my hands cautiously, uncertain that they were ones I should let enter into my heart without testing.
I had never been a mum at that point; I was slowly entering that season, but I did have a history of God regularly encountering me.
I wasn’t ready to easily accept her statement as truth for me. I did a quick mental scan of scripture, weighing her experiences with the stories of God’s character recorded in scripture.
Is this what I was to expect in my upcoming season of motherhood?
Yes, maybe and no, I concluded.
I continued to listen, my hands folding baby grows, but my heart searching for the Lord.
It is no secret. Motherhood completely changes everything about your life. Nothing about my rhythms, community, marriage, or mindset has remained untouched by the immersive experience of motherhood.
It is so easy to get lost in it all. And for some, it feels like wilderness.
But there has been no experience that parallels the opportunity this season has given me to rediscover who God is and who He has made me to be.
Whether you are overwhelmed by the responsibilities and tasks of motherhood or not, is unfortunately not something that is entirely in your hands.
So many factors impact how you experience this season. From support networks, to language barriers, from geographic location and access to transport, to your own physical health, the health of your community and your soul.
One of the hardest things that happens in motherhood is the feeling of disappearing. A hand-in-hand result of cultural narratives around motherhood and the very real experience of having a 24/7 full-time job that allows for no rest and is always your top priority.
The experience of motherhood, especially first-time motherhood, is beautiful and brutal, but also vastly different for each mother. And so, I can empathise with my dear friend’s words about motherhood.
But I quickly chose to reject the lie that was being whispered through her words. It was not her, but another, who sought to plant a seed of destruction in my heart. Underneath her genuine, and hurting, words was a whisper that came from the mouth of the enemy, exploiting her pain and hoping to land untested in my heart.
It was the lie that God would change his pursuit of me.
The lie that this life change would cause me to be left in the wilderness without Him.
I couldn’t give my agreement to such a thing. I knew it was untrue, but I also knew that somewhere within me, I was nervous.
‘He is the God who met the woman at the well in the heat of the day.
The God who veers from His route to heal the blind man.
He is the God who sees the overwhelmed and busy Martha and calls her to Himself.
He is the God who sees the slave woman crying in the wilderness.
He is the God who leaves the 99.
He will meet me in the heights and in the depths, He will find me in the shadows and by the streams. He will tend to me whether I am awake or asleep, full or empty, in need or in plenty.
He will not leave me in the wilderness.
I know He will meet me.’
Looking back, many lies sought to take root in my heart in the early days of motherhood. Many assignments of darkness came seeking to steal, kill, and destroy my contentment.
But isn’t that how it has always been?
Whether entering motherhood or not.
The enemy persuades us to rush and fast-track things that only come in God’s timing, to strive to prove our value, or else we will be left behind. The world bombards our eyes and hearts with all the things we ‘lack’ or need, stealing our peace and contentment, causing us to run the rat race and bow to fear.
And we begin to believe the lie that is being woven. The lie that God will leave us behind.
We believe that He stops being interested because we are not being ‘effective’ as the world deems it; that He will stop pursuing us because we are not available to do things in the way we used to be; that He will only meet us if we have put the time in to qualify for it.
As a new mum, I almost believed that. 'I mean, how could He meet me when I am always at the kitchen sink or changing nappies?’.
In the wilderness seasons, where you are beyond your capacity trying to do normal things, like survive, it is almost scary to put your faith into the fact that He will meet you when you can’t earn it, when your time and energy are not within your control.
It’s hard to believe that He desires to meet you in the middle of mundane but unending tasks like homework; a hard stretch to hope that He would join you as you nurse the teething baby, difficult to believe for an encounter when truthfully you are exhausted.
But that doesn’t change who He is, and what He desires to do.
Over 30 months on from that sofa chat.
My daughter is a full-blown toddler (IYKYK), and I am a not-so-new mum.
I have walked through many moments of readjustment and confusion in my relationship with God, the church and my community, and I have experienced what my friend shared as true, but not fully true.
My encounters with the Lord are in the everyday moments. They are in the mundane tasks of cleaning dishes, making breakfast, eating meals, and folding laundry. Both in the simplicity of His peace guarding me and grace enabling me, but also in the power in which His Spirit will sometimes come and overwhelm me.
Washing dishes becomes a holy encounter where His glory descends, and I cannot help but weep and dance. Breakfast with my daughter turns from merely physical sustenance into a rich spiritual banquet as His presence joins us, and my hands and face turn upwards. Worship parties break out regularly in our living room, and the Prince of Peace joins us in our garden picnics.
These holy moments, as well as the countless holy moments of grace, fill my life with many more encounters than I could have hoped for.
Honestly, her words to me on the sofa were hard.
I was so uncertain about what my life would be like as a mother, and it felt like I was also going to have the rug of God’s tangible presence pulled from under me.
But as I look back, I am thankful for her sharing. Her honest reflection caused me to think intentionally about what I desired as moved into a new season.
It turns out that desire wasn’t any different from before.
I desire Him.
But now I know more.
I now know that He can transform every wilderness into an oasis, that manna truly falls from the sky, and streams really do run through the desert.
I now know that His meeting with me is not dependent on me or my season.
And that He, too, desires me.
And He desires you.
So, to you who walk in the wilderness. You who walk with your head down and your spirit low.
Lift your gaze for you are seen by the King of kings.
He has not changed His pursuit of you.
He has not shifted His gaze from you.
He has treasures anew for you.
Portions that will satisfy and sustain.
And secrets that He desires to share with whoever desires to hear them.
He is good like that.
May there be a fresh outpouring over you and your household. A new grace to sustain you and a new awareness of His presence with you.
Until next time,
Love Anna x
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A little different this week, here are some beautiful posts from people in my Substack and/or real-life community. Their work and lives have deeply impacted me. Enjoy 🧡
I'm not a mother but this spoke to me and taught me something. Thanks for sharing, Anna ❤️
This was incredibly profound. Thank you for letting God use you and for sharing this. I needed to hear this as I walk through the grief of losing my father and trying to figure out who I am without being a caregiver.