Motherhood has a way of teaching you truths you didn’t ask to learn.
Hard ones. Clarifying ones. The kind that arrive wrapped in crisis.

One of the biggest lessons Mom’s Day Moments have taught me is this:

The people you expect to show up often don’t.
And the people you never expect to show up… show up in the biggest ways.

The Glue I Became

I’m the baby of six children.

There are wide age gaps between me and my siblings — ten, thirteen, fifteen years — and we grew up in a blended family long before I had language for it. There was love, chaos, misunderstanding, trauma, loyalty, and hope all living under one roof.

When I was born, everyone else was still figuring each other out.

And somewhere along the way, without realizing it, I became the glue that was expected of me. 

Not Gorilla Glue — the kind that permanently bonds.
I was Elmer’s glue.

The kind that holds paper together just long enough to get through the moment.
The kind that dries clear so no one notices it’s there.
The kind that weakens over time.

I was the peacekeeper.
The performer.
The one expected to smooth edges and absorb tension.

That role didn’t end in childhood.
It followed me into motherhood.

Mark 3:33–35

“Who are my mother and my brothers?” he asked.
Then he looked at those seated in a circle around him and said,
‘Here are my mother and my brothers!
Whoever does God’s will is my brother and sister and mother.’”

When Glue Isn’t Enough

When Super G was diagnosed with cancer, my dad was unwavering.
He showed up every moment of every day.

Some family members supported us in quieter or more limited ways. Others were absent. I don’t judge any of it — people bring what they’re capable of bringing.

But Elmer’s glue doesn’t hold through catastrophe.

What carried us was community.

For ten straight months, we were fed.
Prayed for.
Driven.
Held.

People who didn’t share my DNA shared their time, energy, and resources — and that mattered.

Floodwaters Test the Bond

When Hurricane Harvey flooded our home, I was 37 weeks pregnant with five kids.

Again, my dad was steady. Family helped where they could — laundry done, doors opened, hands offered during rebuilding.

But floodwater dissolves glue.

It was a community that mucked out our home.
Community that replaced baby furniture we had just lost.
Community that filled the gaps no one person or family could fill alone.

The Quiet Crises Peel It Back

When addiction and abuse entered our home, the cracks became clearer; larger.

Some people couldn’t see it.
Some people refused to see it. 
Some didn’t know how to respond.
Some only responded with excuses for it. 

And again, it was community — therapists, neighbors, teachers, friends — who named the truth long before I could.

Elmer’s glue can’t carry the weight it was never designed to hold.

When Everything Broke Open

When Tank was hit by a car, family showed up.
Community showed up.

God showed up in a BIG way. His presence was so BIG I could no longer ignore Him. It’s almost as if the audience that had been watching over the years was simply in disbelief that another tragedy had hit my motherhood. Hit these children.

Prayers were lifted.
Children were transported across state lines.
Safety was created when I couldn’t create it myself.

And community showed up too — meals, donations, schools protecting my children, neighbors standing watch.

Different people.
Different roles.
Same purpose.

That was the moment I finally understood:

I had been trying to hold an entire system together with glue.

I always say Super G saved his siblings.
But Tank saved his mother and the whole damn family.

What Motherhood Finally Taught Me

Here’s the truth motherhood leaves you with when everything else is stripped away:

Family is essential — but family cannot be your only community.

Not because they don’t love you.
Not because they failed.
But because motherhood demands more than any one bond can carry.

So build wider than glue.

Build with people who show up.

Churches.
Book clubs.
Wine nights.
MOPS groups.
Coworkers.
Neighbors.
Teams.

Because when motherhood gets hard — and it will —
it won’t be proximity that saves you.
It will be presence.

That’s the family that matters.

Galatians 6:2

“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”