Do We Belong Here?

Lately, I have been thinking about the weight of everything.

Not one big, terrible thing—just all the things

Being a mama. Homeschooling my children. Working full-time. Going back to college. Keeping up with assignments, meals, laundry, cleaning, routines, appointments, relationships, and all the little things that someone is always needing from me.

Sometimes I look around and think, I really don’t have that much to juggle.

But somehow, the load still feels so heavy. Then I begin questioning myself: Am I not managing my time well enough? Am I taking on too much? Should I be able to handle this better? How do I lighten the load without giving up on the things God has placed on my heart? How do I become successful at handling it all?

But maybe I have been asking the wrong question. Maybe the answer isn’t learning how to carry everything better. Maybe the answer is finally understanding that I was never meant to carry it all by myself.

Sunday mornings have started to feel different for our family since we began going to church. There is something about walking into that building that makes me slow down long enough to notice what has been happening inside of me.

Sometimes, while I’m sitting in the sanctuary, I look around at the friendships and relationships between the church families. I see their love for one another. I see how comfortable they are together and how naturally they seem to belong.

And quietly, I wonder: Will we fit here? Are my children and I supposed to belong here too?

That question reaches further into my heart than most people probably realize. I have spent so much of my life feeling like the one standing on the outside—wondering whether there was really a place for me, whether I was wanted, and whether I belonged.

So walking into a new church isn’t only about finding a seat. Sometimes, it means finding the courage to believe that maybe there could be a seat for me at the table too.

After church on Sunday, I took the kids to Waffle House.

It may have seemed like an ordinary stop for breakfast, but before we left, we discovered that someone had paid for our family’s meal.

As soon as the waitress told me, I just knew that it had to be a sweet couple who attends the same church as us. They were also eating there, and are always so kind to my kids and I. Sure, anyone could have paid for a meal… but this melted my heart in a different kind of way. They simply saw us and chose to bless us.

To someone else, it may have only looked like a paid breakfast. To me, it felt like God quietly answering a question I had been too afraid to ask out loud: Yes, you are seen. Yes, there is kindness here. Yes, you and your children are welcome.

Maybe it was never really about the cost of the meal. Maybe it was about what that gesture lifted from my heart.

For a moment, I wasn’t the one figuring everything out. I wasn’t the one trying to manage, provide, organize, remember, or carry everyone else. Someone simply reached toward our family with kindness and allowed me to receive. And maybe that is part of what God is trying to teach me in this season.

I’m learning that I don’t have to earn my place by doing everything perfectly. I don’t have to prove that I am worthy by carrying more than one person was ever meant to hold. I don’t have to arrive at church with a perfect family, a perfect home, a finished to-do list, or every part of my life figured out.

I can come tired. I can come overwhelmed. I can come unsure of where I fit. I can come carrying everything that feels too heavy—and place it in God’s hands. Maybe God isn’t asking me to abandon all the new things growing in my life. Maybe He is asking me to stop believing that their success depends entirely on me.

I still have responsibilities. I still have work to do. There will still be school assignments, laundry piles, meals to cook, children who need me, and days when I feel like I am falling behind. But perhaps the load becomes lighter when I remember Who is carrying me. And perhaps belonging doesn’t always arrive through a grand announcement.

Sometimes it looks like someone saving you a seat. Sometimes it looks like people loving your children. Sometimes it looks like a breakfast bill that has already been paid.

And sometimes it is God using an ordinary act of kindness to whisper: You don’t have to carry everything alone. There is room for you here. 🌸

I am beyond blessed, and so thankful for The Church and all of the love and kindness I can just feel every time we are there, and even when we are not.