We’re Still Standing (God and I)

Cassidy Van Slyke Blenke finds herself connecting with God during moments of parental exhaustion, leaning into the powerlessness of surrender.

When I spontaneously reflect on how I “do it all” or do not do it all, for that matter, and somehow appear to remain standing, I have no idea other than God.

God must be holding me up, quite literally. The other day, no doubt suffering from parental and physical exhaustion, I found myself lying on the floor in a self-pity heap, on top of a hallway runner that smelled like pee as I watched my 2-year-old running down the hallway, drawing as he went and giggling. I did not have the strength to tell him to stop or redirect his actions; for the time being, I had given up and just let it happen.

In these moments when I’m parenting on little to no sleep and have an infinite-long list of growing to-dos, emails and texts awaiting replies, and incoming requests from teachers, providers, or family, I find myself stumbling in a haze, and yet that’s when I feel the closet to God. Because I am so tired and emotionally drained, there is no one there to rescue me, myself, and I, except the one and all-mighty himself. I often exasperate in prayer, simply, “God help me.” He must understand my mind and body do not have the effort to muster much more.

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My grandfather, far left: Basic Training, California, WWII, 1943 (date and location based on information shared by family members).

My grandfather's war stories

During these periods of struggle, I often think of my deceased grandfather, who was a World War II Veteran. When I was little, he would tell me stories of his past and how the “world used to be.” Many of his tales included those of the War and the time he spent at training camp. In one specific story, he described having been awake for multiple days, keeping watch, and then falling over, flat as a board, because he could not stay awake any longer. Yet, if I recall correctly, he awoke in a bed surrounded by a comrade or two.

Even though we were worlds and decades apart, I imagine the similarities we felt. The isolation, the exhaustion, the fear. The overwhelming desire to serve and protect. Through parenting and raising four young children, I did not anticipate that it would require every ounce of my physical and mental well-being, a lot of which we carry ourselves alone as parents.

On days when I am exhausted and depleted, completely drained with nothing left, I am the most open and receptive to God’s light, love, and grace. I am open because the pain and discomfort have become so unbearable that I must turn it over and surrender to God's will and to the utter powerlessness of carrying the weight of my children’s lives (and in my grandfather’s case, the country’s future, and his future).

“I will set my tabernacle in your midst, and will not loathe you. Ever present in your midst, I will be your God, and you will be my people.” (Leviticus 26:11-12)

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Reaching out for reassurance

My Grandpa had his comrades in the Army, and I have my mothers in arms. The women God put in my life that I can reach out to when I’m scared, tired, afraid, and require the reassurance that we are going through a common struggle and doing the best we can. God is undoubtedly holding me up in these times, but so are my grandfather, my friends, and all those who came before with all their grit, heart, and soul. After all, if Jesus, Mary, God, and all these others powered through hard and trying times, so can we.

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