When I Can’t Fix It With Tape: On Motherhood, Messes, and the God Who Redeems What We Break

Last night, before I went to bed, I did what I always do—I checked on Maggie. Just one last look.
She was sound asleep, snuggled under her covers, peaceful as could be. But as I turned to leave, I noticed something on the floor beside her bed: the book her dad had given her for Valentine’s Day.

Its pages were torn. Shredded, really. Scattered like little paper confetti all over the carpet.

What in the world?

I stood there, stunned. Why would she do this? Was she mad we made her go to bed? Anxious? Bored?
She’s ripped little crafts before, sure—but never something meaningful.

I didn’t say anything then. I decided to sleep on it and talk to Adam in the morning.

When we woke up, I gave him the heads-up. And, as usual, around 6:30 AM, Maggie slipped quietly into our bed to snuggle. A few minutes later, she asked me to come to her room—wanted to “show me something,” she said.

Spoiler alert: it wasn’t the book.

When Adam and I walked into her room and saw the mess, we both reacted with sadness and surprise. Maggie offered a quick “I’m sorry” and “all better” and reached in for a hug.

And that’s when I froze a little.

Because what now? How do I respond to this?

She’s not quite four. She couldn’t explain why she’d done it. But her wiggly body and avoidant eyes said enough—she knew it wasn’t okay. And just like her mama, she wanted to say the right words and move on.

We talked gently about trust. About how special that book was. How her dad worked hard to find it. How it wasn’t something we could just “fix.”
Then I did something that felt right... but also a little uncertain: I took all her books and toys out of her room. I told her we’d start fresh—slowly putting them back in.

And still, I felt uneasy. Did I handle it right?

So… I called my mom. (Because of course I did.)

We talked it through. She listened and offered some ideas. Then, a little while later, she called back and said,
“Maybe ask Maggie to try putting it back together. Give her some tape. Let her feel the frustration a little.”

It was a wise, grace-filled suggestion.

So, after lunch and before nap, I handed Maggie some tape and the torn-up pages.
And bless her heart, she tried.

Of course, baby brother was crawling all over the papers, making it ten times harder. The final product looked... well, exactly like a four-year-old’s attempt to repair a shredded book.

Eventually, she walked across the room, sat down with a sigh, and said,
“It’s hard.”

I pulled her into my lap and wrapped her in a hug.
“Yes, baby,” I said. “It is hard.”

We talked about the book, about how sad we were that it wouldn’t be the same. That sometimes, when something is broken, we can’t fix it ourselves—no matter how hard we try.

And that’s when grace showed up.

While cleaning up earlier, I had found a book tucked away in her pile.
It was His Grace Is Enough by Melissa Kruger.

We sat and read it together. She listened quietly, soaking it in. And all I could do was pray that the truth in those pages would sink deep into her little heart—deeper than any “consequence” or parenting attempt I offer through the years.

I hope she knows this kind of grace.

I hope I remember it too.

Because we’re both going to get it wrong sometimes. But His grace really is enough.