God, 

I feel like I’m failing as a parent. 

When I became one, I thought I would have more patience. I thought I would always know the right thing to say, the right way to guide my children, the right way to show up. But here I am — frustrated, exhausted, and overwhelmed at times. Here I am, wondering if I’m messing this up, wondering if they will remember the love I try to extend to them or if they will only remember the moments I lost my temper, the times I wasn’t fully present, the days I was too tired to be the parent I want to be.

I don’t mean to be short with them, God. I don’t mean to let my stress spill over into their little worlds. But some days, it feels like I am pulled in a thousand directions, like I am always one step behind, like I am trying to hold everything together and coming up short. Some days, I snap when I should be soft. Some days, I’m too distracted to listen the way I should. Some days, I lay in bed replaying the moments I wish I could do over.

And in those moments, I hear the voices in my head telling me I’m not enough, God. That I should be more patient, more joyful, more grateful. That I should have handled the tantrum better, that I should have said yes instead of no, that I should have been more present instead of rushing through the day.

God, I need you to remind me that love is louder than my mistakes. That my children don’t need a perfect parent — they just need me. That even on the days I feel like I have nothing left to give, my love for them is still steady, is still real, and is still shaping them in ways I may not see right now.

I need you to help me slow down, God. I need you to help me breathe when I’m overwhelmed, I need you to help me find tenderness in moments that feel heavy. Help me to be present, even in the mess. Even in the chaos of spilled juice and endless questions and bedtime battles that stretch on for far too long. Help me to be grounded for them. Help me to see that I am here to be a safe place for them, that I can do this because you knew I could do this, because you picked me to do so.

And God, when I make mistakes, because I know I will, help me to show them what grace looks like. Help me to apologize when I get it wrong, help me to teach them that love is not about perfection but about showing up, again and again, even when it’s hard. Help me to let go of the guilt that weighs on me — the guilt that tells me I’m not doing enough, or that I should be doing better, or that I am failing them in ways I don’t even realize. Help me to see the moments I get it right — the laughter, the bedtime cuddles, the whispered “I love yous,” the way they still reach for my hand even after a hard day.

And on the nights when I am up late worrying, when I’m thinking about their future, when I’m wondering if I’m teaching them virtuous things, when I’m scared I’m not preparing them well enough for the world — remind me that I am not raising them alone. That you are in this with me, guiding me, and filling in the gaps when I fall behind.

I may not feel like I am enough, but you are, God. So hold them when I can’t. Nurture them when I worry. And remind me that even in my weakest moments, I am still the parent they need. I am still the parent you chose for them.

Amen.