Long about this time last week, I totally and completely lost it.

I’ll spare you the details, but there was a lot of slamming and shaking and yelling.

My kids are in that transition time where we figure out how to come home from school and not eat everything in sight, pick one another into submission, and talk to mom like I’m Cinderella before the fancy gown.

Things got ugly.

But hear me when I say all that is normal and motherhood and the burden of four kids clamoring for my attention.

What set me off was my lack of control.

We live in this world that tricks us into believing we’ve got everything in perfect order. Endless calendar alarms and oven timers and chore charts trick me into thinking that just because I haven’t missed an appointment or burned dinner and my kids rotate unloading the dishwasher–

I’ve got this under control.

I’ve got nothing.

For weeks, I have agonized over a school decision for my kindergartener. Thanks be to God, I can’t make a bad decision. Any one of my options would be great for her, though some are decidedly easier for me. But I haven’t been able to settle and I realized yesterday it’s because every single one of my decisions brings me peace.

I have no control over my life, over the big picture, the storms that whip us into a frenzy–

but I do have the final say over this tiny, insignificant moment. Because Lord knows, sometimes, we just need to make a decision and live with it and trust that His plan works despite our need for control.

So after I fell apart last week, I came back inside and put dinner on the table and read goodnight stories and went to bed early. And the next evening, when my husband was gone and I was tired, I looked at my kids and simply asked them to cut me some slack.

And they did. Because they’ve seen what happens when I try too hard to make everything go my way. When I stress too much over decisions that are flexible, when I run myself ragged pleasing everyone else.

Sometimes it’s good to fall apart, to remember that the small decisions might be all us, but the really big ones?

Those are out of our hands for good reason.

One year ago, he still had a paci. The “ba” he called it.

One year ago, we had never heard the term “Clinically Isolated Syndrome” or “oligoclonal banding” and I wasn’t on a first name basis with nurses at a neurology office.

One year ago, my oldest wasn’t nearly as tall as me.

One year ago, my second born didn’t talk to strangers.

One year ago, I had no idea writing a book would be so hard.

One year ago, I sold my first short story.

One year ago, we had less money but more stuff.

One year ago, I thought the school decision would be out of my hands because that For Sale sign would get a Sold sticker.

One year ago, I wrote more blogs, but had less publishing contacts.

One year ago, he barely spoke. The other day his sister asked why we ever taught him to talk.

One year ago, I didn’t know the testing of faith develops perseverance and sometimes, honestly, I wish I still didn’t know. Because one year ago, I lived in a safe bubble that my children were healthy and untouchable and that was a blessing and I should be grateful and care for others. Instead, what I really need to do, is first care for the blessings God has given me.

One year ago, I backed down when pushed and holed up and cried. Now I push back, with doctors and schools and all those who ignored me when I first raised my concerns. Now I know–

a mother knows her child. She is the first line of defense.

One year ago, I filled myself up on the beach and hiking and books and writing. Preparation for the year to come that I could never have anticipated or expected.

This year I know–store up all the good and all the love and all the happiness. There will come a day you will need to recall the one year ago.