Letter 3, I Judged Another Mother and Now I am Her

I Judged Another Mother… and Now I Am Her

Letter 3, from Letters to the Kingdom Building Momma

Right before I became pregnant with the twins—when my daughter was two and her brother was one—I braved a new and beautiful season of returning to the classroom.

Our family had moved to a new neighborhood, closer to family and the support we felt we needed. We had enrolled our teenage sons in what was supposed to be an outstanding public school. The later discovery that it was not what we thought—or what they needed—is a completely different story for another day.

An incredible woman whom I admired—and who taught me much of what now shapes the way I build as an entrepreneurial mom—hired me as the Pre-K teacher for her growing Christian preschool.

The beginning of that journey was a beautiful and remarkable discovery point for me. It was where God began to reshape and reform the way I saw myself as an educator. I realized I had a great passion for early childhood learning, and many of my ideas began to emerge in that space.

I remember that one of my greatest strengths was my ability to bring order to our classroom. I established a daily routine and structure that helped shape my little class into scholars with an ever-growing expectation of learning in different ways—and on a schedule.

Two of my little scholars were twins.

I suppose the Lord was giving me a glimpse, without my truly knowing, of the double blessing He had in store for our own family.

Their daily arrival was almost always well past the cutoff time I had gently communicated to parents. My director had allowed me to establish a structured and orderly day in which all my little scholars began learning together and at the same time.

Yet each day, well after our morning gathering and usually in the middle of our first learning activity, my sweet and spicy twins entered the room.

One would gently enter our already-moving day with ease. The other was usually not ready for what had already begun and needed a little space to settle into the morning.

I was so frustrated with their mother.

I could not understand how she continued to miss the cutoff time. I had to get myself and my little ones up, dressed, and there early every day. What was making it so difficult for her to do the same?

I harshly criticized her late arrivals through messages and notes sent home to remind her of the time I expected everyone to arrive.

Once, I waited at the door to speak with her about it. I showed little to no grace as she bowed her head in shame at the close of our conversation.

I did not discern what might have preceded their tardiness.

I showed no compassion for the grace she so desperately needed in a season and space I was too judgmental to understand.

One afternoon, I took my complaints to my director. I was certain she would take my side and have the conversation I wanted to have with their mother but did not have the authority to initiate. Instead, the conversation with my director changed my life.

She revealed that those beautiful girls and their mother were going through a painful transition. They had escaped abuse and homelessness. That sweet family was slowly discovering and building a new beginning while staying with friends in a home they could not call their own.

The simple task of getting up, getting dressed, and leaving the house each day—simple for some of us—was anything but simple for them.

At any given moment, two different little personalities could decide they did not want school to be their next destination. Meltdowns and tantrums met mornings when their mother had prayed for ease, peace, and the very thing I had not given her:

Grace.

My breath stalled, and my heart sank.

I had placed pressure upon a mother who did not need pressure to be perfect—or even to be on time.

She needed peace.

She needed patience.

She needed time to enter a season she had never prepared for.

She was carrying her own need for grace and peace alongside the needs of her children. I did not know her entire story, but I knew enough to understand that what she carried was heavy.

She needed extra hands and support to help her hold it all.

I had not given her support.

I was supposed to be her extra pair of hands.

I was supposed to pray with her at the door…

not warn her.

Fast-forward to now. I have navigated different seasons of motherhood and transitions that led me both to place my babies in school and to keep them home with me. None of those transitions were easy.

Some pulled me into places of heaviness as I carried what felt like too much. Through other seasons, I seemed to move with grace. When I look back, I have no explanation for how I functioned in peace and beneath a divine flow except for the grace of God, the intercession of Jesus, and the guidance and help of the Holy Spirit.

God placed angels in my life during each season—people who helped me move forward with the assurance that I could and would make it through.

I have stood at the preschool door on many mornings, watching my own twins bravely march into the arms of their teacher with confidence and ease.

Then there were the other days.

The days when one child screamed as I buckled him into his car seat while the other ran toward the street.

Our older son and daughter have had their moments too. Sometimes they needed a longer hug. Sometimes they simply wanted to take slower steps toward the school door.

During our seasons at home, I have encountered many tears and meltdowns in the middle of days I had purposefully planned and carefully ordered.

I did not need a lecture.

I did not need to be reprimanded.

I needed encouragement.

I needed a moment to pause and lean into the Father as I gave myself—and my children—grace.

This morning, my five-year-old had a complete meltdown on the way to school. He climbed out of our truck and took slow steps toward the door of the school he attends with his sister. When I stopped in front of the entrance, he gripped me more tightly.

“Please, Mommy…I don’t want to go. Please. Go with me.”

My heart broke. For a moment, I wondered whether I had placed him in school before he was ready. His sister hurried inside while he tugged on my heart, unaware of everything I was feeling. Then the principal came to greet us at the door. She looked at me with a smile that seemed to say she understood everything I was battling in that moment. She took his hand and said, “I’ve got him.” Then she led him inside with a smile.

Suddenly, I remembered those precious twin girls and their mother. I had just received all the grace I needed in that moment—the grace I had not known how to give another mother years before.

I did not feel condemnation.

Instead, I whispered a tremendous thank-you to my Heavenly Daddy.

He made it remarkably clear that the grace shown to me carried a deeper meaning now than it ever could have before. I had walked miles in that mother’s shoes, and I thanked God that I was not met with the same judgment I had given before I knew her story.

Momma, you were not created to be perfect.

God never intended for you to be, and the world may never give you the grace to understand that.

You were created to discern and develop the purpose He so carefully placed within you and within your children.

Life will bring challenges, new mountains to climb, and unfamiliar territory for you to navigate. Sometimes, you will miss the lesson while you are still learning it.

Yet we follow a beautiful Savior whose grace allows us to grow and learn—even when we make mistakes.

You are not failing.

You are learning.

You are not merely struggling through the difficult moments.

You are healing as you move through them.

Pausing to refocus does not mean you are letting go or quitting.

You are not missing the mark when you struggle to find your rhythm and flow. You cannot discover what works for your family without first encountering the parts that do not.

I pray this letter blesses every momma who reads it today. This is another tender space in my heart that I was willing to invite you into so that you might be encouraged, find healing, and continue growing as you journey through the ministry of motherhood.

Keep growing. Keep moving. Keep your eyes on ABBA.

With a sincere heart,

Jantina💕

If this letter met you in a tender place, would you share it with another momma who may need grace today?

And if you have ever received kindness in a moment when you expected judgment, I would love for you to share that moment in the comments. Your story may become the encouragement another mother needs.

© 2026 Jantina Masters. All rights reserved.

Please do not reproduce or distribute this letter without written permission. Brief quotations may be shared with proper credit to Jantina Masters and a link to the original publication.