I held the soft blue sleeper against my cheek, then folded it away, and placed it into a plastic tub. He had stretched it like a sausage the last time he’d worn it. I always mourned a little when he outgrew something.

Yet, I admit, I spent a lot of my mommy time wishing for my children’s finish lines.

When they finally sleep through the night.

When they are out of diapers.

When they are old enough to dress themselves.

“When’s” have a way of turning into “then’s,” as if life on hold until, promised greater happiness sometime later.

The truth is, contentment today lays groundwork for future joy to blossom.

As a mom I related to the mother who cried to Elisha in the book of 2 Kings. Her husband had died, and her children were about to be taken as slaves to pay off debt.

“Your servant has nothing there at all,” she told him, “except a small jar of olive oil.” 2 Kings 4:2; NIV.

She was on the verge of losing everything. When the prophet asked what she did have, all she could think of was one jar of oil, and it was almost empty. Her situation was worse than I’d ever faced.

Yet, with four little children, I sometimes felt like a jar nearly empty.

Physically tired and emotionally worn, I thought I had no more in me to give. There was nothing left to pour out. I was scraping bottom. “Someday when” couldn’t come soon enough.

When they could eat grown-up food.

When they could bathe themselves.

When they could put their own coats on.

Living for the future while chafing through the present brings a whole lot of discontent.

“Elisha said, ‘Go around and ask all your neighbors for empty jars. Don’t ask for just a few. Then go inside and shut the door behind you and your sons. Pour oil into all the jars, and as each is filled, put it to one side.’” 2 Kings 4:3-4; NIV.

Somehow, moms, God fills empty jars, and then fills them again.

As years passed, I found deep joy in seeing my children grow into the people God intended. In fact, my jar is not empty because my children are grown. Rather, it overflows.

I cannot lie. It’s nice not to wipe noses and other places. There are distinct pleasures in handing off laundry, sleeping all night, and my life doesn’t revolve around when the baby wakes. It’s ok to look ahead, to celebrate passages of time. It’s fine to live in a paradox of the best of times and the worst and it is healthy to learn joy in both.

A little blue spoon lies in the back of my kitchen drawer, the same one a new tooth once clinked against a long time ago. Storage boxes hold crayon drawn pictures. I have an apron with my daughter’s handprint decorating the front, right beside the big hole from overuse.

Pieces of outgrown childhood in my home bring memories of the children that once sat on my lap and buried faces in my neck.

“She left him and shut the door behind her and her sons. They brought the jars to her and she kept pouring. When all the jars were full, she said to her son, ‘Bring me another one.” But he replied, ‘There is not a jar left.’ Then the oil stopped flowing.” 2 Kings 4: 5-6; NIV.

Children actually don’t grow up overnight. God gives all of us a steady consistent dose of time and provides strength day after day. He holds our time while we steward the minutes. He moves and shapes each moment we have with our children.

On my window ledge, sunshine spills light through transparent glass. A rainbow of color splashes onto my counter. In the quiet of my house, joy overflows as I am reminded of the fullness of an empty jar.