Are You There God? It’s Me… Mom?

A Reflection on Ecclesiastes, Margaret, and the Messy Middle

There’s a line from “Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret” that always sticks with me—not because it’s profound or poetic, but because it’s honest. My daughter and I recently watched the Netflix version and I thought, this feels so familiar. Margaret talks to God like she doesn’t know exactly who He is, or what this whole “faith” thing is supposed to look like, but she reaches anyway. She keeps the conversation open, even in the confusion.

And lately, I’ve realized:

I’m a grown woman with a mortgage, a to-do list, and a work schedule that feels impossible… and I still sometimes pray like Margaret.

“Are you there God? It’s me… Mom. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Ecclesiastes feels like it was written for moments exactly like this—when life doesn’t look the way we imagined. When we’re trying to make sense of the gap between our hopes and our reality. When nothing seems to fit neatly, and we wonder where God is in the middle of all the shifting pieces.

Ecclesiastes reminds us that there is a season for everything—a time to build and a time to tear down, a time to laugh and a time to weep, a time to search and a time to lose. And honestly? Mom life somehow manages to hold all of those seasons… simultaneously.

Margaret was searching. Moms are searching too.

Margaret was trying to figure out who she was, who she belonged to, what faith meant, and how to make sense of the changes happening inside her and around her.

And if we’re being real… so are we. Motherhood doesn’t magically hand us the answers. If anything, it presses on the questions we’ve avoided.

• Who am I now?

• Where is God in this season?

• Why does work feel disappointing?

• Why does motherhood feel so heavy and holy all at once?

• Why are my kids struggling, and why can’t I fix it?

• Why does everyone else seem to have it more together?

  
  

Some days we feel strong and steady. Some days we feel like we’re twelve again, standing in Margaret’s shoes—awkward, unsure, praying to a God we’re still trying to understand.

Ecclesiastes doesn’t give neat answers—just honest ones.

The author wrestles openly with confusion, disappointment, unmet expectations, and the tension between what life “should” be and what it actually is. He names the frustrations we all feel but don’t always admit:

• Work is hard.

• People let us down.

• Plans fall apart.

• Nothing seems “enough.”

• Life shifts just when you start to feel steady.

  
  

Ecclesiastes holds space for all of it—and then reminds us that even in the unpredictability, God is still God. Not in the sense of tying everything up with a bow, but in the invitation to trust Him one step, one breath, one small act of faith at a time.

Maybe we need the faith of a kid again.

Margaret talked to God without pretense.

She didn’t worry if she was doing it right.

She didn’t need polished prayers or perfect theology.

She just showed up—honest, confused, hopeful, hurting, curious. And maybe that’s the type of faith Ecclesiastes points us back to:

A faith that brings our questions, not just our answers.

A faith that talks to God in the searching, not only in the certainty.

The faith of a woman who is tired.

The faith of a mother who loves deeply.

The faith of a person who is trying her best in a season she didn’t quite expect.

So here’s what I’m learning in this strange, stretching season:

• It’s okay to feel lost.

• It’s okay to not love the version of work you’re in right now.

• It’s okay to have kids who are struggling and not know how to make it better.

• It’s okay to wonder where God is—and still talk to Him anyway.

• It’s okay to be in a season you didn’t choose.

Because God isn’t only in the “answers.”

He’s in the reaching.

He’s in the conversation.

He’s in the season—even the messy ones that don’t make sense yet.

And maybe the most merciful truth of all is this:

God can handle our Margaret-prayers.

The whispered, “Are You there?”

The exhausted, “It’s me again…”

The broken, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He meets us in the gap between the life we thought we’d have and the life we’re actually living.

So if you’re in a season that feels upside-down, unfinished, or uncertain, you’re not alone. You’re in good company—with Margaret, with Ecclesiastes, and with every mom who’s ever whispered a tired prayer into the quiet.

And God is there.

Even when we’re still figuring everything else out.