Beyond Survival Mode

what comes after "the cracks of time"

I’ve been speaking directly to overwhelmed moms since about 2002.

I will never forget pushing my three-year-old and my one-year-old in a double stroller through my neighborhood, tucking flyers into mailboxes, and inviting young moms and their babies to my home.

Once a month, I brewed fresh coffee, baked a loaf of blueberry bread, and bought a bouquet of flowers for the kitchen counter. I welcomed women—some of whom I had never met—into my living room and led them through a simple Bible study I’d written, while one of my dear church friends taught the children in another room. We’d talk. Sometimes we’d cry. Then I’d pray for each of them individually, speaking life over them and their babies.

My goal was to provide an oasis for tired mamas—a monthly reprieve from the exhausting, monotonous, and often lonely season of raising small children.

Since then, I’ve led multiple iterations of Bible studies for women—mostly moms with young kids—in my home, at church, through my blog, and on my podcast. For nearly a quarter of a century, I’ve had my finger on the pulse of the overwhelmed mom. Not only because I know her, but because I was her.

And here’s something I’ve seen everywhere during that time. In books, blogs, podcasts, and social media, the message goes something like this:

You lack sleep. You lack time. The children have taken over your life. So simply engage God in the cracks of time. If you only have five minutes, give Him five minutes. If Bible study happens while you spoon-feed one child and nurse another, so be it. If prayer means a five-minute walk while your husband holds down the fort, that’s okay. If that’s all you can give, it is enough. God is a God of grace, and He will meet you where you are.

Listen—there’s a lot of truth in that message. I’m deeply thankful for it. For years, I was that mom, reading my Bible while nursing a baby or praying while toddlers crawled over me. I needed that message. You needed that message.

But this approach—“God will meet you for five minutes here and there”—is not a long-term life strategy. It’s survival mode.

Five-minute moments keep you connected to Jesus, but they don’t foster the kind of relationship that leads to deep intimacy with God.

As I’ve walked with many of you through multiple stages of parenting—from babies to toddlers to teens and beyond—I see some of you still approaching God only in the cracks of time, long after survival mode has ended.

You’re wondering why you feel so anxious.
Why you lack wisdom.
Why you struggle to discern the voice of God.

And I think the reason is that we—the older moms—taught you that engaging God here and there was enough.

And to be clear: during survival mode, it is enough. If you are currently sleep-deprived because of babies, illness, aging parents, solo parenting, or any other extenuating circumstance, by all means—engage Operation Survival Mode.

But once your life stabilizes, it’s time for a new strategy. One that establishes roots, supports growth, and strengthens you for what lies ahead.

It’s the same way you might stand at the sink and shovel leftover mac and cheese from your toddler’s plate into your mouth (and I know I’m not the only one who’s done this). Will it sustain you in the moment? Yes. Will it nourish you? Mostly. Is it easy and yummy? Um, sure.

But is that how you want to steward your health forever? Of course not. Eventually, life stabilizes, and you carve out time to plan, prepare, and enjoy nourishing meals with your family.

On behalf of the older moms, I want to apologize.

We gave you part of the story—but not all of it. We taught you about God’s grace in chaotic seasons, but we didn’t always show you what comes next.

So allow me to show you what’s next.

For the young mom with babies on an erratic schedule: sleep when the baby sleeps. Accept the dinners dropped on your doorstep. Eat the cold mac and cheese at the sink. And, by all means, seek the Lord in the cracks of time whenever and however you can.

He will meet you there. Without question.

And in those seasons, God is especially tender:

He tends His flock like a shepherd;
He gathers the lambs in His arms
and carries them close to His heart;
He gently leads those that have young.
—Isaiah 40:11

But as your children grow, you must move beyond survival mode and develop practices, habits, and rhythms that support your evolving life with God.

If you are no longer in survival mode, and you desire peace, wisdom, and discernment, then pursuing the Lord must become the priority of your life.

Not a priority.
The priority.

Practically speaking, this means talking with Him not only in the cracks of time, but also at the beginning and end of your day. It means making intentional space for prayer. It means consuming Scripture as daily bread, so you become familiar with God’s heart, His ways, and His voice.

And as you seek Him with growing intention and fervor, He will transform your heart and mind—and you will bear the fruit of the Spirit:

Love
Joy
Peace
Patience
Kindness
Goodness
Faithfulness
Gentleness
Self-control

You must shift from survival to surrender.

This is what Jesus meant when He said:

I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in Me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing.
—John 15:5

This is the heart behind The Abide Sessions.

I want to speak to the woman who has been living in survival mode longer than she realized—the mom still eating metaphorical sink-side mac and cheese because it’s the only way she knows to eat.

If that’s you, first I want to meet you at that sink, hug you, and tell you: you’ve done an amazing job getting here.

But let’s not stay here any longer.

I want to lead you into a deeper, steadier relationship with Jesus—one that goes far beyond the cracks-of-time approach, one that sustains and transforms you in ways you never imagined.

If you’re ready to move from survival to surrender, join us for The Abide Sessions.

We begin this week—January 15th—with our first study, but you can join any time.

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I hope to see you there,

Sandy