More Than A Handful

We were in Walmart, using one of those “family-sized” carts that proudly claims to seat three kids—as if that’s going to cut it. The baby was tucked in their car seat inside the main basket. The next youngest rode up front. Two more filled the big blue seats, and the oldest walked alongside the cart.

A woman coming toward us looked up from her groceries and did a double take. You could almost see the numbers adding up in her head as her eyes darted from child to child—visibly counting. Then her gaze swung to me. For some reason, dads tend to vanish in moments like these, so Tim might as well have been invisible.

Her eyes widened and she gasped, “Are all these yours? You must have your hands full!”

I smiled and gave my usual reply: “Yes, we’ve been very blessed.”

She went on her way and we went on ours, but the moment stayed with me. Honestly, they all do. Over the years, we’ve heard that phrase more times than I can count. Sometimes it’s said with curiosity, sometimes with judgment, sometimes with awe.

People often don’t know what to say. Some offer a polite smile. Others let out a low whistle. Sometimes it’s a joke. Sometimes it’s a jab. And more often than not, it’s that old standby:

“You’ve got your hands full.”

They’re not wrong. I do. But what they usually miss is that my heart is full too—and that’s not an accident. It’s a choice. Tim and I didn’t stumble into having a large family by accident or ignorance. We walked into it hand in hand, prayerfully, one child at a time, saying yes to the life God gave us.

Choosing a large family wasn’t about collecting kids or chasing chaos. It was about obedience. About trust. About believing that when God said children are a blessing, He meant it. We knew the world might not always understand, and we knew it wouldn’t be easy—but we believed it would be worth it.

Before Micah, our oldest, was ever born, Tim and I felt God laying it on us to raise our children to be able to be used by Him. Early on, we realized that these children, who wake up at full volume and leave toys in their wake, aren’t really ours. They are entrusted to us to be raised as worthwhile people who are equipped, mentally, emotionally, and physically, to step up and fill the place God designed them for.

That’s not to say it’s always picture-perfect. There are tears—mine and theirs. There’s clutter and noise and more laundry than I care to calculate. Some days I cry in the closet. Some days we eat a hodge-podge of leftovers for dinner. But even on the hard days, there’s beauty. There’s deep, meaningful, soul-stretching joy in this calling.

I get the joy of sitting down to a meal and telling Alayna she did a good job on the bread and watching her face light up. Tim is able to compliment Micah on his hard work and willingness to tackle the tough jobs. We get to be interrupted time and again by small arms wrapping around us in hugs or little voices lisping, “I love you, you’re the best Mommy (or Daddy)”. We get the enjoyment of dishing up thirds for these bottomless pits other people think are our children and hearing the delight as they wolf it down. Tim and I have the joy of being “pestered”, no matter the job we’re doing, by children itching for a way to help.

What people often don’t see when they count heads in the grocery aisle is the joy behind the numbers. They don’t see the sibling giggles during bedtime stories, or the way the older ones help tie shoes and fill thermoses. They don’t see the baby smiles, the spontaneous hugs, or the shared victories of a big family learning to do life together. It’s not always glamorous, and it rarely fits in a shopping cart—but in the noise and the ordinary, joy keeps showing up.

So yes, my hands are full. But so is my heart. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything. Not for a quieter house, or cheaper grocery bills, or less laundry, or more sleep. This is the life God gave us, and we are honored to live it.

Homestead Hilarity

Micah’s Dilemma:
More siblings meant we wouldn’t be able to drive his favorite vehicle—a pickup truck.

Micah’s Solution:
“I guess we’ll just have to get a bus, then!”