I’ve said it before, and it’s still true. Motherhood has revealed my own need to me more than any other experience in my life. I have never felt so in over my head than I have in the last five years. I overanalyze how I handle my twins’ fighting, I beat myself up for too much screen time, I fear the thousand more important and life-altering decisions to come in the next 15 years. And I’m just so tired. 

We haven’t had a hard road to growing our family. We haven’t even had hard babies for the most part. Sure, having two newborns at the same time proved quite the challenge. But even the most ordinary of parenting experiences puts me on my knees.

There’s so much I carry in my head. Most of it would seem useless to many people. But I can tell you exactly which stores have two seats in the cart and how prices of diapers on Amazon compare to prices at Costco. I remember my son’s fire truck pajamas need to be washed because otherwise the tears will flow at bedtime. And, not that you’d ever want to know this, but I could tell you the last time each one of my three kids pooped.

Somehow over the years the practice of memorizing Scripture has been pushed aside in my brain to make room for remembering where my twins’ shoes are or that I need to take the meat out of the freezer in time for dinner. But a couple year ago, a few friends and I slowly memorized Romans 8, and it was nothing short of life-changing—especially during the most wearying days of motherhood.

A couple years ago, I called my dad to check up on him while he was in the hospital. I can’t recall what sent him there this particular time, but he picked up the phone, light-hearted and positive as ever. “How you feelin’, Dad?” I asked. 

“Everything’s all good,” he told me. “I’m perfectly healthy.” 

I rolled my eyes and recounted to him his current ailments. The “perfectly healthy” part was an exaggeration, to say the least. And was he really “all good”? 

I made my skepticism clear, to which he retorted, “Well, this is nothing compared to being shot down in the middle of a war.”

Okay, well played, Dad. I don’t know what it’s like to fly a helicopter and get shot down. Even so, I shook my head, both annoyed at my dad’s apparent denial of his poor health and wondering how he could be so upbeat in a hospital bed.

My husband and I collapsed on the basement couch after making the bedtime rounds. We wanted to spend time together but after work days and diapers and tantrums and laundry and all the normal chaos of life, we felt completely depleted. We opted to watch Harry Potter, a regular entertainment choice when we want to escape without venturing somewhere too terribly intense.

There’s a scene in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone when Harry comes upon The Mirror of Erised. As he looks into the mirror, he sees who he eventually recognizes as his parents who died when he was a baby. He brings his friend Ron to the mirror, hoping Ron can get a glimpse. Ron looks and sees not Harry’s family but himself as head boy and Quidditch captain. Harry later finds his way to the mirror yet again, only to run into Professor Dumbledore who explains that the mirror shows the “deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts.”

I grabbed the remote, hit pause, and turned toward my husband. “What would the mirror show you?” I asked.