‘Blink and you’ll miss it!’

As a relatively new mum of two kids under three, I am surrounded by the message that I’m living through the best years of my life.

One trip to the supermarket can have me stopped multiple times by older people wanting to reflect on their child-rearing days, the interaction typically ending with some comment along the lines of, ‘Enjoy every moment, they grow so fast!’

One quick scroll through social media reveals the same sentiment:

‘Currently living in “the good old days”.’

‘These precious years go by so fast, and you’ll never get them back—don’t waste them!’

‘Your child will never be this little again—cherish every moment!’

And while I understand the sentiment and appreciate the well-intentioned focus on enjoying these early years, at times it feels overwhelming.

When my husband came home and asked me, ‘If you could change anything about the future, what would it be?’, I realised my answer exposed something I hadn’t quite put into words before.

The impossible pressures

I feel like I’m swimming in waters that glorify this phase of having little kids and, in doing so, imply that I should fear or resent what’s to come. There are many problems with this, but at its core is the temptation to make an idol of this particular season of life.

In the moments when I’m enjoying the beauty of early motherhood (the baby smiles, toddler giggles, heart-melting cuddles, the development of new skills, the sweetness of a sibling relationship unfolding before my eyes), it can feel like an impossible pressure.

‘Don’t miss a moment.’ 

‘Don’t have a negative emotion.’ 

‘Don’t be anything other than grateful.’

In the moments when I feel like I’m drowning in the chaos, noise, mess, sleeplessness and constant needs of two small people, the same message becomes a different kind of pressure, layered with guilt and the anticipation of future regret.

‘You missed too many moments.’ 

‘You experienced too many negative emotions.’ 

‘You weren’t grateful enough.’

But these pressures are unrealistic and, ultimately, hopeless.

*Promote ‘Bringing Forth Life’ here*

A better hope

The good news is that as a Christian, my hope isn’t in my role as a mother, nor is it in my performance in or enjoyment of any role: wife, parent, worker, friend or otherwise, regardless of how long each role lasts.

My hope is in a better life to come and in a Saviour who has secured it! 

So, if I could control one thing about my future, it would be this: that while I may look back with nostalgia and gratitude, I would never look back with rose-coloured glasses or regret that I’m no longer there. Instead, I pray that I would continue looking forward, throwing off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and run with perseverance the race marked out for me, fixing my eyes on Jesus (see Hebrews 12:1–2).

And it’s not only future me who needs to fix my eyes on Jesus, but present me also! Because if I really believe the best is yet to come, it changes the way I see these years now.

I don’t need to orchestrate picture-perfect memories or provide my children with every ease and worldly comfort. Instead, I strive to faithfully point them to their Saviour, who offers them a hope far greater than anything I can give them.

I don’t need these years to last forever because I know that, if we are in Christ, we will share something so much better than this life together. Not as the family we are now, but as brothers and sisters in Christ. That is the future I want us to look towards, longing for heaven together.

This leaves me able to enjoy the present because I can experience all of it in the freedom that only Christ gives. I can hold my babies close without needing to freeze time. I can revel in their giggles without being terrified that they will disappear. I can feel sadness when they face adversity, knowing that I don’t need to protect them from every discomfort or suffering, and trusting that even these things are held in God’s hands. I can enjoy today without needing today to be the pinnacle of my life. I can look forward, knowing there will be other seasons, with different joys and different challenges. There will be loss and grief and pain and hardship because this is a broken world. But among it all remains the promise of something that will never end.

So when voices are loudly shouting, ‘These are the best years of your life!’ I don’t need to listen. I know these years are good. They are precious, joyful and marvellous. They are also hard. They are unrelenting, tiring and patience-stretching. And regardless of how I feel about these years in any given moment, I get to rejoice.

These are not the best years of my life. I don’t need to cling to them as though they are. There is something better ahead—and praise God that there is.

‘Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. (2 Corinthians 4:16–18)

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Sarah Tilley is a child of God, realising this for herself during high school, thanks to the prayers of her parents and the grace of God. In her marriage to David and her mothering of her two boys, she strives to continue walking with Jesus daily. Sarah attends church, runs, reads, bakes, folds laundry and drinks cold coffee in Sydney’s Inner West.

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