Where I Talk to God 

A few weeks ago, I helped Maddie move into her new house. The day was filled with boxes, furniture, trips up and down stairs, and all the little details that come with helping your adult child settle into a new chapter of life.

By the time everything was unloaded and put away, it was time for me to head home.

We hugged goodbye, I got in my car, and headed home.

As I pulled away, I caught myself smiling.

Not because she needed me anymore that day. But because she didn't.

There was a time when her entire world revolved around me. Now she's building a life of her own, making her own decisions, creating her own home, and writing her own story. I felt so proud.

And while part of me will always miss the little girl she used to be, there is something really special about getting a front-row seat to the woman she has become.

What I didn't realize at the time was that the drive home was exactly what I needed.

As moms, especially moms like us, we're rarely alone with our thoughts.

There is always something that needs our attention.

Someone who needs us. A schedule to manage. A problem to solve. A text to answer.

A meal to make. A fire to put out.

Most days, life is loud.

But that day, it was just me, the road, and my thoughts.

Not far into the drive, I realized I had started talking to God.

Not the polished kind of prayer.

Not the kind where every word is carefully chosen.

Just a conversation. A real one.

The kind you have when nobody else is around.

The kind that comes from your heart when you've finally gotten quiet enough to hear yourself think.

I talked about Maddie. I talked about Jordan.

I talked about my worries. My hopes.

My fears. My blessings.

I talked about all the things that sit quietly in the corners of my heart while I'm busy taking care of everyone else.

And mostly I talked about my gratitude.

I thanked Him for Maddie.

For the little girl who made me a “girl” mom.

For the young woman she has become.

For the challenges she has overcome.

For the lessons she has taught me.

For the blessing of watching her build a life she loves right here in the North Georgia mountains, we both call home.

I found myself thinking about how much of motherhood is learning to trust God with people we love but can't control.

If you're a parent, you know exactly what I mean.

When they're little, we think our job is to protect them.

And it is.

But somewhere along the way, we realize our real job is learning how to let go in small ways over and over again.

We can't choose their path.

We can't make their decisions.

We can't prevent every mistake.

We can't guarantee every outcome.

No matter how much we love them.

No matter how much we want to.

At some point, we have to trust. Trust that what we've taught them matters.

Trust that they'll figure things out.

Trust that God's plan for their life is bigger than the one we've imagined for them.

Trust that God loves them even more than we do. That's easier said than done.

Especially for moms who have spent years carrying responsibilities that most people never see. As I drove along those beautiful mountain roads, I realized something else.

There is a difference between being alone and giving yourself space.

Most of us aren't very good at the second one.

We fill every quiet moment with noise.

Music. Podcasts. Phone calls. Scrolling.

Work. Tasks. Distractions.

Anything to avoid sitting still with our own thoughts.

But there was something about that drive.

The quiet felt so good. Not lonely. Not sad.

Just quiet. And in that quiet, I found clarity.

Not answers. Just clarity.

A reminder that I don't have to carry everything. A reminder that not every problem belongs to me.

A reminder that sometimes the next right step is simply trusting God with the things I cannot control.

As I got closer to home, my conversation with God began to wind down.

Not because I had all the answers.

Trust me, I didn't.

Truthfully, I still had most of the same questions. But I felt lighter somehow.

Like I had finally put down a few things I'd been carrying around for far too long.

And as I sat there driving through those mountains, I remember thinking how grateful I was that God's plan for Maddie doesn't depend on me having all the answers.

Because if there's one thing motherhood has taught me, it's that there comes a point when we have to stop trying to write the story ourselves and trust the Author.

I reached over and turned on the music.

And the very first song that played was "Where I Find God" by Larry Fleet.

I just smiled.

Maybe it was a coincidence.

Maybe some people would say it didn't mean anything at all.

But in that moment, sitting alone after spending the last half hour talking to God about my children, my worries, my hopes, and all the things I don't have the power to control...I knew.

Not that everything would work out exactly the way I wanted.

Not that all my questions would be answered.

Not that life would suddenly become easier.

I just knew He had been listening.

And honestly, sometimes that's enough.

Maybe that's what faith really is.

Not having all the answers.

Not knowing how the story ends.

Just trusting that when we hand over the things we can't carry anymore, God hears every word.

Even the ones we never say out loud.

And ever since that day, when I hear that song, I don't think about the lyrics.

I think about that drive.

The conversation.

The quiet.

And the reminder that sometimes, when we finally slow down long enough to talk, God is already there listening.

This was written by Shannon Urquiola at Not Your Average Autism Mom.

Thank you for being part of our journey.