Today Was Not the Day

Today started like so many others—me running late.

I woke up at twenty minutes till seven, rushed to get dressed, let the dogs out, and realized it was already after seven by the time I finally got Paisley out of bed. From that point on, it was a struggle just to keep up.

We got to school and immediately stepped into chaos—Amazon delivery issues, a handful of unexpected problems, and then the phone calls started. Her dad called. And called again. And again. Every time, it felt like he was looking for a fight. Fussing over random things. Pushing buttons. I hung up. He called back. I hung up again.

The last call was about his tools. Telling me I needed to get my stuff out of his house and bring his things back. And yes, I do have some of his tools—bolt cutters, a pipe wrench, a skill saw, a grinder, and a ladder. That’s it. Nothing more. Meanwhile, the bed he sleeps on? I paid for it. The sheets? Mine. The plates he eats off of? Also mine. But I didn’t say all of that out loud. I just swallowed it and kept moving.

After school, I rushed to his house to drop off two of the tools and grab a few of my things. I ran to Publix because kitty litter was on sale—only for them not to have what I needed. So then it was PetSmart. One more stop. One more delay. One more thing grinding my nerves down.

Everything felt rushed. Heavy. Like time was slipping through my fingers no matter how fast I moved.

By ten minutes till five, I still hadn’t made it to my second job. I knew I’d probably walk in with a minute to spare, but the damage was already done—inside my head. I felt like a failure. A failure as a parent. A failure as a person.

All afternoon, I felt like all I’d done was fuss—about her dad, about money, about everything. I rattled off lists of things she needed to do at home, pulled up, jumped out of the car, changed clothes without even turning the engine off, and jumped back in. Meanwhile, she was at home taking care of the animals, working on the house, handling things I just didn’t have time for today.

And the guilt hit hard.

But the truth is, if I don’t work this job, we don’t pay the bills. We don’t make ends meet. I don’t know another way right now. I don’t know how to do anything else.

Lord, even my brakes are squealing. I have the parts. I just don’t have the time to stop and get them fixed—and now it’s not just squealing, it’s scrubbing.

Today is just not the day.

In the middle of all this noise—phone calls, errands, money stress, guilt—I had to stop and remind myself of something I forget far too often: God does not measure my worth by how smoothly my day runs.

Scripture tells us that “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). Today, I felt crushed. Worn thin. Like I was failing at everything I touched. But even here—especially here—God is near.

I didn’t fail because the day was messy. I didn’t fail because I had to work instead of sit still. I didn’t fail because my child saw me struggle. What she also saw was perseverance. Responsibility. A mother who keeps showing up even when she’s tired, frustrated, and running on empty.

God knows the weight I’m carrying. He knows the choices I’m making aren’t easy, and He knows they are being made out of love, not neglect. “Let us not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up” (Galatians 6:9). Today didn’t feel like a harvest day—but it was still a planting day.

If today feels like too much for you too, hear this: you are not failing—you are surviving, and sometimes that is holy work.

There will be days when everything feels loud, rushed, and unfinished. Days when the car squeals, the money doesn’t stretch, the emotions spill over, and you wonder how you’re supposed to keep going. But God sees you in the in-between. He honors the effort no one else notices.

Tonight, I’m choosing to release the guilt. To breathe. To trust that tomorrow is new mercy. “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning” (Lamentations 3:22–23).

Today was not the day—but tomorrow hasn’t been written yet.

If this spoke to you, share it with someone who’s carrying too much right now. Someone who feels like they’re failing when they’re actually fighting. You never know who needs the reminder that they are seen, held, and not alone.

And if you’re walking a hard road too—stay. Follow along. We’re figuring this out one day, one prayer, one imperfect step at a time.

Written by Billie Jo — a mom and homesteader sharing encouragement for the weary and those rebuilding life one faithful step at a time.