“Lo, children are an heritage of the Lord: and the fruit of the womb is his reward.”
—Psalm 127:3

Sometimes the very thing we prayed for can overwhelm us when it finally arrives.

That may sound ungrateful, but I do not believe it is. A blessing can be beautiful, long-awaited, and unquestionably given by God—and still require more from us than we ever imagined. We can be thankful beyond words while simultaneously wondering whether we have enough strength, patience, and energy to make it through another day.

That is where I find myself in this season of life: overwhelmed, not only by hardship, but also by blessing.

I have helped raise and care for a number of children throughout my lifetime. Children are not unfamiliar territory to me. I have loved them, nurtured them, taught them, comforted them, and helped guide them through many different stages of life. But I have never raised three toddlers all at once.

Nothing could have completely prepared me for that.

After twenty-six years of marriage and decades of longing to become a mother, three tiny girls have now filled our home with laughter, crying, toys, questions, bottles, little shoes, big emotions, and more activity than I could have imagined. I always wanted to be the mother of three or more children. I grew up as the youngest of four, and there was always a special place in my heart for the beautiful commotion of a large family.

Now, in a way I never expected and at a time I could not have predicted, God has allowed me to experience it.

It is beautiful.

It is also exhausting.

Three toddlers do not take turns needing you. They do not form a polite little line and wait patiently until you have finished helping someone else. One may be crying while another is climbing something she should not be climbing, and the third has suddenly decided that the meal she specifically requested is completely unacceptable. One needs a diaper change, one needs help finding a toy, and another needs reassurance that she is still loved because Mommy dared to hold her sister.

Then there are baths, meals, medicines, school mornings, appointments, tantrums, laundry, and bedtime. Oh, bedtime! Just when you think everyone is settled, someone needs water, someone cannot find her favorite toy, someone has decided she does not like her bed, and someone else has been awakened by all the commotion.

There are moments when I scarcely know which need to answer first.

Yet these are not simply three toddlers who came into our home without a history. Each of these precious girls has experienced disruption and trauma before she was old enough to understand what was happening. Their hearts and bodies remember things they do not yet have the words to explain. Some of their behaviors are not merely disobedience or ordinary childhood fussiness. Sometimes they are expressions of fear, insecurity, grief, confusion, or a desperate need to know that the adults caring for them will not disappear.

That knowledge changes how I see them, but it does not make the difficult moments easy.

Compassion does not prevent exhaustion. Understanding why a child behaves a certain way does not stop your body from becoming overwhelmed by the screaming, crying, clinging, arguing, and constant demands. Love does not magically quiet an overstimulated nervous system.

This has been especially challenging because I did not enter this season completely rested and emotionally untouched. These blessings arrived while I was already walking through trauma and grief of my own.

A great deal has happened in my life over the past several months. I lost my Daddy suddenly. I have continued carrying the concerns that come with Dexter’s health. I recently lost my beloved Tiffany, whose presence had been part of my life for so many years. There have been changes, illnesses, responsibilities, and moments when it felt as though life barely gave me time to absorb one thing before another arrived.

Then, in the midst of all that sorrow and uncertainty, God placed three little girls in our home.

It is tempting to believe that receiving such an extraordinary blessing should erase the grief that came before it. But hearts do not work that way. New joy does not make old sorrow disappear. Sometimes joy and grief sit beside each other at the same table. Sometimes we laugh at something precious a child says and then cry later because someone we love is not here to witness it.

Sometimes God’s blessings arrive before our wounds have healed.

That does not make the blessing any less real, and it does not mean we are receiving it incorrectly. It simply means that human beings can carry more than one truth at a time.

I am deeply grateful for these girls, and I am overwhelmed.

I love being their Mommy, and I sometimes need a moment when no one is touching me or calling my name.

I prayed for the opportunity to mother children, and there are days when I wonder whether I am doing any of it well.

I can recognize that they are responding to trauma while also admitting that their behaviors sometimes overstimulate and exhaust me.

None of those truths cancels out the others.

Perhaps we sometimes harm ourselves by believing that blessings should never feel heavy. We think that if something came from God, carrying it should always feel effortless. When we become tired, frustrated, or overwhelmed, guilt whispers that we must not be grateful enough.

But even blessings require strength to carry.

A newborn baby is a blessing, but a mother still needs sleep. A marriage is a blessing, but loving someone through serious illness can be exhausting. A home is a blessing, but it must still be cleaned and maintained. Ministry is a blessing, but serving others can empty us if we never allow God to restore us.

The weight of a blessing does not diminish its worth.

In this season, peace has not always looked like a quiet house. With three toddlers, quiet can occasionally be more concerning than noise! Peace has meant remembering that God knew exactly what He was doing when He brought these girls to us. He knew their histories. He knew our limitations. He knew I was still grieving. He knew Dexter’s health concerns. He knew how loud, complicated, exhausting, and beautiful our days would become.

God was not surprised by any of it.

That brings me comfort because there are times when I surprise myself. I discover limits I did not know I had. I lose patience more quickly than I would like. I become overstimulated and need to step away. Sometimes I have to let Dexter handle the bedtime struggle because I have reached the end of what I can give that day.

I am learning that reaching my limit does not mean I have failed. It means I am human.

These girls do not need a mother who never becomes tired. They need a mother who continues learning, apologizes when necessary, establishes loving boundaries, and keeps showing up. They need someone who can see beneath their behavior and recognize the frightened or confused little child underneath it. They also need to learn that Mommy is a person with needs and limitations—not an endless supply of attention who never has to rest.

Perhaps part of creating a safe home is allowing them to see that families care for one another.

I care for them, Dexter cares for me, we help one another, and God cares for all of us.

Some days, peace comes when all three girls are finally sleeping and the house becomes still. Other days, it comes in the middle of the noise when one of them unexpectedly climbs into my lap, lays her head against me, and completely relaxes. In that moment, I realize that she feels safe.

That is when the exhaustion becomes sacred.

It is sacred because behind the tantrums, bedtime battles, spilled food, and endless repetition, something is slowly changing. Three little girls who have experienced instability are learning what it means to belong. They are learning that they will be fed, comforted, protected, corrected, and loved. They are learning that the adults in their home will still be there when morning comes.

And I am learning something too.

I am learning that God’s answers do not always arrive wrapped in ease. Sometimes they arrive noisily, carrying toys, needing a diaper change, and calling “Mommy!” from three different directions. Sometimes the answer to a twenty-year prayer leaves crumbs across the floor and fingerprints on the walls.

Sometimes the blessing is so much bigger than the life we had before that it takes time for our hearts, minds, and bodies to adjust.

So yes, I am overwhelmed—but I am also in awe.

In the middle of trauma, God brought new life into our home. In the middle of grief, He gave me new reasons to laugh. In a season marked by loss, He entrusted us with three precious lives to nurture.

The storm has not completely passed. My grief has not disappeared, our challenges have not ended, and raising three toddlers at once is certainly not becoming effortless. But somewhere within the beautiful chaos, God is teaching me that peace is not having everything under control.

Peace is knowing that He does.

And when the blessing feels heavy, I can place both the blessing and myself into the arms of the One who gave it.

If this post spoke to your heart or helped you feel a little less alone in your own overwhelming season, please consider leaving me a small tip through Buy Me a Coffee. Your support helps me continue sharing honest stories of faith, family, healing, and finding God’s peace in the middle of life’s storms. Every contribution—no matter the amount—is deeply appreciated and helps make it possible for me to keep writing while caring for the precious family God has entrusted to me. Thank you for reading, praying, and walking alongside me through this beautifully complicated journey. 💗