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.

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.

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.