When did May become the new December? Is it just me, or does anyone else’s calendar for this month look like it’s been assaulted by pen scribbles? Literally, as I was shoving pizza party money into my first grader’s backpack this morning, I briefly wondered if I could hire her a personal assistant. It’s a circus around here, folks!

I feel like there aren’t enough hours to squeeze it all in. There’s all those end-of-year parties, the purchasing of teacher gifts, recitals, Mother’s Day, Field Day (the WORST), Field Trip Day. . . Not to mention regular life, which for me involves squeezing 30-40 hours of work into two days each week.

I am overcommitted. I don’t cook enough. Some days, my quiet time with God looks like five minutes in the car between meetings. I have to cancel on friends every third time we make plans. I get anxiety about forgetting something important. I wake up in the middle of the night and wonder if I paid last month’s preschool tuition or if I turned off my curling iron.

I met a friend at the park the other day for lunch. We managed to talk a little while trying to keep our children from paralyzing themselves on the monkey bars. When we left, I sat in my car and tried to remember what we said. Basically, we spent the whole time we had together talking about how we wish we had more time together.

I drove away feeling so selfish—so whiny.

Here is something I need to accept:

I’m going to stay overcommitted.

Don’t get me wrong; I’d love a nap.

But when I look around my house and see school books, cheerleading bows, dishes from dinner with friends, ballet slippers, (recycled) gift bags, and a fridge covered in sticky notes with barely-legible reminders . . . I have to tell myself that my life is incredibly busy, but it’s also incredibly full.

So instead of wasting precious time complaining about being busy, and instead of torturing myself with parent-guilt when I forget something, or show up late, I want to begin practicing gratitude for the fullness of this season with two small kids.

A few years back, I read a book called Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World. In it, author Joanna Weavers says,

“[Jesus] knows the journey is difficult. He knows life is rarely fair.  Jesus fought the same frigid winds of distraction, discouragement, and doubt that keep us from knowing God’s love. But like the Father, He longs to gather us in His arms. He longs to trade the flimsy blankets of our own self-sufficiency for His all-sufficiency. The Lord Jesus invites us to cast our doubts, our fears, and anxiety upon Him, to discover how much He really does care. Trust Me, My child, He whispers.  I have your ultimate good in mind.” p. 29

Today, I want to trade. I want to trade my self-sufficiency for His all-sufficiency. I can’t do it all. But I can be intentionally grateful that the One who can loves me and invites me to share the load with Him.

My life is overcommitted. But it is also so very full.