The kids were at preschool. It was early afternoon, and my to do list still seemed to roll down the floor.

I started my third cup of coffee for the day, feeling the weight of duties heavy on my shoulders. I meant to start on the laundry. Or the dishes. Or perhaps the toilet, continually smelling of my son’s new “I stand to use the potty” aim. I meant to set up appointments and return emails and to just keep running until my head finally hit the pillow that night.

But somewhere in the middle of all these ‘meant to(s)’ I seemed to hit a wall of overwhelmed mommy. And I did something no where near my list.

I danced.

I will start by clarifying I am in no ways a good dancer. I never could quite get the moves down. But “the moves” are not even what I went for that day. Ballet was my instead forte . I began to twirl, to leap, to kick my legs as high as their un-flexible muscles could stretch, and to quietly apologize to the girl who lives below me.

I let myself go before Him. The One who dances over me.

And as I kicked the one million boxcars and magic clip dolls out of my path, and zigzagged around the emptied toy bins, I felt His arms grab ahold. Ahold of my uncoordinated pirouettes. Ahold of my much too long ‘to do’ list. Ahold of my heart.

My heart, filled with so many questions and wonderings. My heart that I give fully day after day to my babies and often never stop to realize what’s inside. My heart, so strong. But so fragile. So vulnerable. So in need of His arms.

This mom thing is hard. So hard. I don’t care what anyone else may say. We have peoples entire lives dependent on us. Their souls directly effected by our actions. It’s exhausting and rewarding. Beautiful and ugly. Draining and up lifting. And it shakes our hearts to the core.

Often we just keep pushing through. Through to the next moment, the next hour, next day…

Some may think we live soap operas and petty dramas. That we have checked out of “real life” and stress out about the littlest things. Like why our son still doesn’t know his colors and he’s turning three next week.

But He sees.

And He cares about those colors just as much as we do. And at night, when we stay up to simply breathe in that son’s precious frame. Well, he sees that too. And He lies right there with us. But oftentimes we are simply too tired to notice…

I lifted my arms as high as I could, but still they seemed not to reach high enough. I stopped and knelt down as low as I could get myself. Realizing He was right there, scooping my fragile mommy heart into His big hands.

And I wondered why it had taken me so long to dance.