My 4 P.M. confession
Letting go of guilt, trusting God’s hand, and making peace with screen time
I’m trying a new rhythm this year and that looks like moving slower and being more intentional with my time. As I looked ahead to this summer, I continually felt the nudges to “take a Sabbath” for the month of July. Being a mom of a handful of children, running a ministry, and being in a season of transition—that is easier said than done. So, I’m stepping back where I can, and Substack is one of those places. I am intentionally filling my soul in this season, so that I can continue to have the capacity to continue sharing with you here. I’ve invited some dear friends, some I’ve known for years, and some I’ve just recently met, to share with you for the month of July and I’m so excited for it. I pray you’re blessed by their words and presence here!
When I first “met” Kathy Young in the Substack world, I knew she was a special soul. The way she shared with me, and encouraged those around her—was so refreshing. I was immediately drawn to her intentionality and deep care for her writing and the writers that surrounded her. I love regularly reading the way she invites others into the love and presence of God on her Substack—Less Noise, Low Whispers. I’m so excited that she is “here”, with us virtually in this space today, sharing from her heart. Please give a warm welcome to my friend, fellow writer, mother, and precious soul—Kathy Young!
I take pride in being a low-screen parent. At least, for now.
I mostly stay home with my 18-month-old, Olive, and I’ve made it a point not to subject her to hours of television or hand her my phone just to stop a meltdown. I’m not a stickler about it, but I do try to be as intentional as I can, for her sake and for mine.
However, there comes a time in the day, usually around 4 P.M., when there’s still a hour before my husband gets home, I need to prep dinner, and after six hours of watching Olive, I’m at my wits’ end. If I begin prepping dinner in the kitchen, my daughter will inevitably want me to hold her the entire time or rummage through the refrigerator, asking for every snack she sees—namely, milk, cheese, cookies, and what we call in our house “gagas” (grapes).
Could I get her to try and help me? Sure, I could. But I’m sure you can imagine how difficult it is to chop onions, peppers, and zucchini or season ground turkey when a tiny human is reaching for your sharp knife or trying to put raw meat in her mouth.
All that to say, just to get dinner going before my husband arrives, I usually give in to an hour of screen time with Ms. Rachel.
“Do you want to watch Ms. Rachel?” I’ll ask. She’ll nod with excitement, searching fervently for the remote, because she knows what “Ms. Rachel” really means.
It means screen time.
At first, choosing this method felt like the gateway drug to lazy parenting. Clearly, I know it’s not. And I understand that as a first-time parent, I’m prone to overanalyzing every decision I make with my daughter, simply because I’ve never done this before. Still, even though this late-afternoon rhythm works for us, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt, like I was letting the TV do the parenting for our last stretch of the day.
It wasn’t until a few weeks ago that my view on our end-of-day routine started to shift.
Usually, my husband gets home while Olive is in the middle of a Ms. Rachel episode. I’ll find a natural stopping point in the kitchen, pause the show, scoop Olive up into my arms, and greet Daddy at the door with a warm hug and kiss.
Then, once she’s settled with Daddy, he’ll press “play” again, and I’ll slip away to finish dinner.
“Honey, come here!” my husband shouted from the living room one day. He knows how much I consider cooking to be “me” time, so I figured he must have something worthwhile to show me. I quickly turned the sautéing vegetables to low and walked into the living room to meet him.
“Go ahead, show Mama!” he said, rewinding the TV to a segment where Ms. Rachel was singing and dancing to the song Open Shut Them.
The lyrics are simple and go like this:
“Open, shut them, open, shut them, give a little clap, clap, clap! Open shut them, open shut them, put them in your lap, lap, lap! Creep them, crawl them, creep them, crawl them, right up to your chin, chin, chin! Open wide your little mouth—but do not let them in!”
To my surprise, Olive did every single move of the dance. Every single one.
She opened and shut her hands
She put them in her lap.
She crawled her hands right up to her chin, opened wide her mouth, smiled—but didn’t let them in!
I was stunned. I couldn’t take the credit because this wasn’t something I had taught her. Clearly, this was the work of Ms. Rachel.
And that’s when I heard it—a quiet whisper from the Lord, cutting through my anxious thoughts and doubts about being involved enough as a mother: It’s okay to let go, I’ve got her.
Since then, about 15 minutes after I turn on Ms. Rachel, I find myself peeking in from the kitchen to see what she’s picking up on next. So far, she’s learned that a cow says “moo,” a horse says “neigh,” and a bunny—well, it doesn’t say anything, I suppose, but it does hop!
Every small thing she learns, even without my help, feels like grace-filled evidence that God is working in and through her life, right in the middle of our ordinary—yes, even through a screen.
It’s a relief to know I’m not the only one shaping her, even when it feels like I am. Instead, God is gently weaving goodness into her days, through moments I notice and moments I miss.
He’s near when I’m worn out.
He’s teaching her when I’ve got nothing left.
He’s present in the laughter, the dancing, the new words, and in the stillness in between.
She belongs to Him before she belongs to me. That truth alone helps me breathe.
Even when I feel like I’m not enough, He is.
And so, around 4 P.M. every day, you’ll catch me turning on the TV. Because in our home, we watch Ms. Rachel, and we allow grace to meet us where we are.
Many thanks to Kathy Young for sharing her heart on experiencing God today. As always, I’m grateful for your presence here, with us today.
Substack always offers their writers the option to open up for paid subscriptions. I know many writers on this platform offer this to their subscribers, but for me, I hope to always keep what I offer here in this space free of charge. My husband and I serve in support-based missions work in diaspora ministry, specifically in immigrant and refugee care. If you want to support my writing—you could give a one-time or recurring donation to our ministry and that would be a huge blessing.
You’re doing a heart job, Mama!
This so huge, often keep our guilt as it's easier to hold on to rather then let it go. Thankyou Brianna for this thought.