When my firstborn was exactly 8 weeks old, we took her on an airplane to a family wedding. My husband was so proud to introduce our new baby to his huge family. Writing, “I was stressed and anxious about this trip,” feels wildly understated. Even now, my heart races just thinking about it.

I really tried to make good. I tried to keep her sleeping and feeding on schedule. I tried to get the aunts and uncles to wash their hands. I tried to look happy.

I tried, I tried, I tried.

I tried to hold her whole world in my hands.

Long story short: Despite one complete breakdown masked by the darkness of a 2 a.m. feeding, I made it through the weekend. By which, I mean, we survived. When we unloaded all our bags at the airport and headed toward security, I could feel the weight lifting. Almost home.

At security, I swiftly lifted baby out of her car seat and began walking toward the metal detector. The moment I folded her into my arms, against my chest, I felt it. And then I smelled it.

The cold, wet smell of a blowout.

That endless free-fall feeling I'd laced up tight all weekend unwound instantly. Surrounded by thousands of impatient strangers under florescent lights, I had officially reached rock bottom on this trip.

The whole weekend, I prayed for stress relief and God sent me a tiny tragedy instead. A problem I couldn’t mask or make disappear.

You, mom, probably have a story like this. We all do. When you’re at the brink of mental exhaustion, you get hit with the worst of it — a tiny tragedy. A pattern interrupt exposing the illusion we are holding it all together, or ever could in the first place.

Many are the plans in a person’s heart… Oh, I had plans. Schedules. Systems. Sanitizer…

Strangely, the tiny tragedy moment is when God’s relief floods in. At the bottom of all my tragedies, there is nothing left to carry. No where else to go, but up. An empty vessel, ready for Christ’s mercy pour (cue whisper singing, “He’s got the whole world, in His hands...” or rage praying “Jesus take the wheel”).

The gift of hindsight is sweet, is it not? Every one of my tiny tragedies has chiseled a new path, shown me a strength I didn’t know I had and re-defined courage in my life. In the moment, there’s no sense. But in time these small, hard things are what make life worth pursuing. Let us allow laughter to fill the memory and Jesus to take the stain.

Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

Emily

Have more time? The term “tiny tragedy” always reminds me of one of my favorite songs by John Mayer, No Such Thing.

all of our parents, they're getting older
I wonder if they've wished for anything better
While in their memories, tiny tragedies?