The Death of Me (and the Birth of Something New)

The other day, I was in a conversation with a friend—just a normal, everyday chat about life and motherhood—when I looked at her and said, “This two-year-old is going to be the death of me.”

I laughed when I said it, but the truth of those words hit deeper than I expected.

Because in many ways… it’s true.

Mothering my second daughter has been so different than the way that I mothered my first. (My first daughter is largely the reason for my foundation of faith in The Lord.) Bring a mama to this wild, brilliant, strong-willed little human who mirrors so much of my own personality—has been one of the most refining seasons of my life. She reflects back to me my stubborn will, my decisiveness and my drive. She tests my patience, exposes my limits, and calls out parts of me that I didn’t even know needed dying.

And that’s exactly what’s happening.

She’s not the death of me in the flippant, dramatic way we say when we’re tired and overwhelmed. She’s the death of my flesh—the part of me that wants control, convenience, applause, and ease. The part of me that wants to be understood before understanding and to be right more than I want to be loving.

Dying to the flesh is not pretty. It’s not tidy. It doesn’t fit into the highlight reels or polished captions.

But it’s holy.

And it’s only possible when we invite God into the process—the tantrums, the tired eyes, the moments of guilt and grace, the deep breath prayers whispered in the hallway. It’s in the surrender that something new begins to grow. A deeper compassion. A quieter strength. A more anchored faith.

So yes, this two-year-old may be the death of me—but only in the best way.

Because as the old me fades—the impatient, performance-driven, perfection-seeking me—something far more beautiful is being born.

And I pray that she sees it too.

Not just a mom who’s tired, but a mom being transformed.

Not just someone who disciplines, but someone who’s being discipled.

Not just someone who gives her life for her children —but someone who’s being made more alive, day by day, by the One who gave His life for us all.