My dad often repeats the phrase, “We have much to be thankful for.” While I was growing up, he’d say it at the start of a meal, when the family celebrated a holiday or a birthday, or simply at the end of a long day. For years, I thought those words were just another dad-ism, a phrase heard so often I’d be tempted to dismiss the sentiment and opt for an eye-roll instead.

But that regular expression of gratitude wasn’t a cliche or truism. For him, it has been a lifeline. I heard him say “we have much to be thankful for” while his hair fell out and his body weakened from cancer treatments. He said, “we have much to be thankful for” through tears, praying before dinner while my mom slowly deteriorated from her own cancer, lying in her bed just down the hall.

His gratitude was never an attempt to put on a fake smile. Instead, those words were spoken as a liturgy tethering our broken hearts to our sure hope. Gratitude didn’t replace lament; it often grew out of it.

Every night before my husband and I go to bed, we tiptoe into our kids’ rooms. We give them one last kiss, and then we straighten out their blankets and tuck the covers around them. And every single night since the twins were babies, I’ve put my hand on their backs, leaned in close, and listened for the sound of their breathing.

The habit started out of fear. For months after we brought our tiny newborns home from the hospital, I’d check on them incessantly. I’d pick them up, smell their sweet skin, and watch their chest rise and fall as they inhaled and exhaled. I needed to hold them just one more time before collapsing into my own bed for a few hours. My husband reassured me regularly, “They’re okay. They’re going to be okay,” and I knew—most likely—he was right. At the time, I didn’t think I was being an anxious parent, but looking back, I can see how fearful I really was—and often still am.

One minute, we grab sugar and flour from the pantry to bake away our feelings. Hours later, we vow to detox from carbs for a month. At dinner, we laugh with our kids around the table. As we gather empty plates and load the dishwasher, we find ourselves yelling at everyone to just stop yelling.

Maybe some nights we think, “We’re okay. This is hard, but we’ll get through it.” The next, we’re huddled in the bathroom, hiding the sounds of our sobs and the sight of our tears.

At times we feel so sure that God is in control. Then a news headline hits, and we shake our head at him and ask, “Really? You sure you’ve got this?”

Think positive. Hope for the best. It’ll all work out.

I read tweets and Instagram posts with those kinds of phrases, and the cynic in me shakes my head. The optimism can be helpful at times, I suppose. At the very least, those words reveal our craving for hope. We long for something different than the brokenness we see around us. But those phrases are like candy. They may perk us up for a moment, but they will never sustain.

Other times we hear verses recited like, “All things work together for good” (Romans 8:28). We know that message is true, and we believe it. But at the moment phrases like, “Woe to me!”[1] or “Out of the depths I cry!”[2] feel more accurate to the stirrings of our souls. We wish we could tie our sad stories up in a bow, find a solution, or tack on a happy ending. But grief, pain, loss, fear, and heartache cling to us like a snare, and for many of us, cries of distress are all we can utter.

We’re in some crazy times, aren’t we? I’ve been addicted to reading the news, fighting anxiety, and struggling to focus. It’s easy to grow more discouraged and weary, and I think we have to actively battle that by finding things that nourish our souls.

Here are a few ideas and resources I’ve collected this week. I hope they’re helpful, and I pray we can all remember that God is still good even in the chaos.

I’ve been studying Psalm 120 over the last few months, and tried my hand and writing a prayer related to that psalm. I debated all day about posting it here, because I’ve never written any sort of prayer like this. It’s definitely a work in progress. But I thought I’d share it with you hoping you might find encouragement in praying through this passage of Scripture.

Many nights, I lay my head on the pillow and the quietness of the evening makes my thoughts all the louder. I scroll through questions in my mind from mundane to meaningful. Did we close the garage door? Did I just hear the kids call out? Was my friend offended by what I said? Shouldn’t I be doing more about all the problems in the world? Why does God allow such suffering? What if my daughter’s fever gets worse? Do my kids have to bring a snack to preschool tomorrow? It’s like the questions are ping-pong balls flying through my brain. Even if I answer each one, another comes flying back at me.

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.