With five kids in tow, my husband and I have heard just about every comment imaginable about the size of our family. From “You have your hands full!” to “You do have a TV… don’t you?”—and plenty in between. (You can imagine how gracious I feel after that second one.)
Wherever we go, we’re something of a spectacle: kids grouped together, ranging from ages one to eleven, always a little loud, usually sticky, and never boring.
But the question we get the most is this:
“So… are you done?”
My husband knows how much I cringe at that one. He reminds me people mean well—but for me, it always feels a little loaded. How do I explain to a passing stranger that this is something we hold in prayer? That our openness to life isn’t just a decision between two people, but a discernment between us and the Lord?
Because truly, it is.
Bringing more children into this world is not a decision that we take lightly, but no matter if and when we are actively trying to conceive or purposely trying to avoid the same thing remains at the core:
If the Lord wills it.
When Trust Didn’t Come Easily
We’ve had seasons of trying to “plan” and seasons of simply surrendering—and sometimes, both at once.
I remember learning this lesson most clearly after our second child was born. Still recovering from months of colic and exhaustion, we found out—surprisingly—that we were pregnant again. I cried. I wrestled. I told God how scared and overwhelmed I was.
Then, we lost that sweet baby.
Even now, it hurts to type that. But it was a turning point in my journey of trust. What I once resisted, I would now give anything to have. I still ache to hold that child. And yet, in the grief, something shifted in my heart.
For the first time, Mary’s words became more than a verse to me:
“Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. Let it be done to me according to your word.”
– Luke 1:38
I saw them again in Christ’s prayer in the garden:
“Not my will, but yours be done.”
– Luke 22:42
Trusting God doesn’t mean silencing your desires. It means offering them to Him—letting Him hold your longings while He shapes your path. That loss awakened something in me: not a crushed version of myself, but a truer one—someone learning to say “yes” even through sorrow.
Vocation Begins in Surrender
The Church teaches that every person has a vocation, a unique call to love and holiness. For some, that call leads to priesthood or religious life. For others—like me—it’s the vocation of marriage and motherhood.
Marriage is a sacrament—a visible sign of invisible grace, meant to mirror the love of Christ. In it, spouses are called to offer themselves fully, faithfully, and fruitfully. That includes openness to life—and also the deeper calling of helping one another (and our children) get to Heaven.
That’s not always an easy call to answer. It requires discernment. Surrender. And yes—trust.
Are you wrestling with your vocation—or wondering what God might be asking of you in this season?
What does it look like to say “yes” in this season of your life?
Why So Many Are Choosing to Have Fewer Children
Today, people are having fewer children than in generations past. Birth rates are declining around the world, shaped by real pressures—economic stress, career goals, personal freedom, fear about the future, worries about raising children in a world that feels chaotic, and access to contraception.
Honestly, I can understand the reasons why. Raising children requires a lot of you—time, energy, sleep, and comfort. And many people simply don’t feel ready or supported.
But if you’re hesitating not because of serious reasons, but more out of fear or cultural messaging, I’d gently ask:
What kind of freedom are you holding onto—and is it leading you to joy?
There is never a perfect time to have children, but there is grace for every moment. There is always joy waiting on the other side of surrender.
The Dreams We Gave Up
When my husband and I were dating, we dreamed of traveling, building careers, sleeping in every now and then, and having spontaneity in our relationship. We had about four months of that newlywed freedom before discovering we were expecting our first child.
Five children—and one heavenly baby—later, we are completely different people.
Some of our children were planned. Others surprised us. But each one has been a gift, a joy, and a completely unique reflection of God’s creativity and goodness.
We wouldn’t change a thing.
How have your dreams changed over time?
What have you lost… and what have you found?
What Parenthood Has Actually Given Us
Yes, we’ve made sacrifices. But we’ve also been transformed.
I’ve become more patient, more forgiving, more tender—qualities I simply didn’t possess before. As Jason Evert once said:
“Our kids are like the sandpaper of sanctity in our lives.”
Raising children rubs away the roughness of our selfishness if we let it. If we cooperate with God in this high calling, parenthood will teach us what it means to love when it’s hard, to give when we’re tired, to serve when no one sees. Ultimately, He will allow us to grow in holiness through this vocation.
This kind of holiness doesn’t shout. It whispers—through bedtime stories, cleaned-up messes, and a thousand small yeses. (This is why I speak in my heart a thousand times a day His words that are often forgotten: “Faithfulness in small things is a BIG thing.”)
It is an ongoing sanctifying process. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it stretches us thin. Most times we fall short. But always, there is grace upon grace.
Family as a School of Sanctity
Recently, I read this line in a meditation journal:
“In a special way, Our Lord wishes to put our heart into serving the persons of the particular human or supernatural family we have…”
That, to me, is the vocation of family. It isn’t just a duty, but a holy calling. A place where sanctity is lived out through ordinary love.
We sanctify each other—parents and children alike—not by perfection, but by perseverance, courage, love, and grace. In every diaper change, every tantrum, every mess picked up, and every whispered prayer… we are being shaped.
❤️ Reader Invitation
Are you discerning family life—or in the thick of it already?
What dreams have changed or been fulfilled in ways you never expected?
Are you afraid to open your heart to life, or unsure of what God might be asking of you?
Wherever you are, know this: you’re not alone. (Especially if you are one who is struggling to conceive.) If you’re grieving, discerning, or simply weary—I’m praying for you, and I’d love to hear your story.
If you feel called, share in the comments or reach out privately. I’d be honored to walk alongside you.
The Catholic Commons 
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