Letting Go of Control as a Mom: A Surrendered December

“I’m so sorry — I’m going to be late.”
That’s the text I sent my boss at 7:42 a.m., holding back tears in bumper-to-bumper traffic on 77.

I had tried so hard that morning.
Woke up early. Set the tone. Christmas lights glowing. Dan + Shay serenading us with “It’s Officially Christmas.”
But my house was unraveling faster than I could pull it together…

Another Morning That Broke My Illusion of Control

We needed to leave in 20 minutes. I had an 8:30 meeting—one I planned my entire morning around.

But one toddler was melting down because he wanted to wear Spidey jammies to school.
The other was refusing the breakfast I offered because it was an eat-in-the-car kind of day.
I suddenly remembered I hadn’t made my coffee – a personal crisis.
And then I realized my phone was still upstairs.

I kept telling myself: It’s fine. You’re fine. Just move faster.
But shoe negotiations, snack packing, and surprise traffic told a different story.

By the time we hit 77, the GPS arrival time read 8:38… then 8:39… then 8:42.

My chest felt tight.
My temper was short.
My kids simply breathing near me felt like too much.

And the truth I didn’t want to accept was staring me in the face:

I was not making that meeting on time.

So I did the thing that felt like swallowing a brick:
I took a breath, opened the group chat, and typed the words I was avoiding.

“I’m so sorry — I’m going to be late.”

A blurred view from the driver’s seat of a car on a dim morning commute, with dashboard lights glowing and soft bokeh headlights ahead. A text message bubble is overlaid on the image reading, “I’m so sorry going to be late.

**The Gap Between What I Think I Control and What I Actually Control**

That morning revealed something I already know but hate admitting:

I think I control roughly 90% of my life.
In reality? I probably control about 15% of that 90%.

And the gap between those numbers?
That’s where most of my anxiety lives.

Not in the big things—I already know those are out of my hands.
It’s the small things.
The things I believe should go my way.
The things I think I can wrangle, manage, or micromanage into submission.

But as harsh as it feels in the moment, those tiny disruptions become invitations:

Will I fight for control?
Or will I fight to surrender?

Because one of those will exhaust me.
And one of them will form me.

A cozy kitchen on a December morning with a steaming coffee mug on the counter, Christmas greenery, a tote bag by the door, and children’s shoes on the floor—capturing the quiet moments before the day unravels in a working mom’s routine.

A December Prayer I Didn’t Expect to Need

The last few weeks, the quiet one line prayer I repeat under my breath has been borrowed from Mary in Luke 1:

“Let it be unto me as You have said.”

Not just for December.
Honestly—it might need to be my prayer for all of 2026.

This statement was Mary’s response to Gabriel, when he announced she would give birth to the Messiah.

Mary had every reason to panic.
Every reason to grasp for explanations.
Every reason to try to control the narrative.

What would people say about her?
What if Joseph didn’t believe her?
What about the timing—her plans—her reputation—her future?

She could have demanded clarity.
She could have asked for proof.
She could have made God explain Himself.

But she didn’t.

She surrendered.

“Let it be unto me…”

A posture that steadied her rather than stressed her.
A posture that trusted God’s route—even when it wasn’t the logical route.

Maybe You’re Ending 2025 Somewhere You Didn’t Expect

I think many of us are.
In some areas of life, we’re exactly where we hoped to be.
In others? Not even close.

But what if this route—this unexpected, inconvenient, slower-than-you-planned path—is actually strategic?

What if the things that feel wildly out of your control are the very places Jesus is forming something in you?

Something quieter.
Something deeper.
Something steadier.

Where I’m Landing This Week

Back to that Monday morning.

Sitting in traffic, kids chattering in the back, mascara threatening to betray me…
I realized:

No amount of planning could have saved that morning.
No perfect routine could have prevented it.
No “try harder” could have fixed it.

Because surrender was the only way forward.

A surrendered December doesn’t magically remove the chaos.
But it does change the posture of my heart inside it.

“Let it be unto me as You have said.”

Even when the Spidey jammies don’t cooperate.
Even when the traffic doesn’t move.
Even when I’m sending texts I never wanted to send.

Especially then.

Because surrender rarely starts in the big, life-altering moments.
Most days?
It begins in the car… on a Monday…
running late…
with toddlers crying into their million snacks.

Check out Weeks 1 and 2 in the Surrendered December mini series.