When My Arms Get Tired

A Reflection on the First Reading for Sunday, October 19th, 2025:
Twenty-Ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time

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Exodus
​17.8-13

​Amalek came and fought with Israel at Rephidim. Moses said to Joshua, “Choose some men for us and go out, fight with Amalek. Tomorrow I will stand on the top of the hill with the staff of God in my hand.”

So Joshua did as Moses told him, and fought with Amalek, while Moses, Aaron, and Hur went up to the top of the hill.

Whenever Moses held up his hands, Israel prevailed; and whenever he lowered his hands, Amalek prevailed. But Moses’ hands grew weary; so they took a stone and put it under him, and he sat on it. Aaron and Hur held up his hands, one on one side, and the other on the other side; so his hands were steady until the sun set.

And Joshua defeated Amalek and his people with the sword.

Pause. Pray. Reflect.

Some days motherhood feels exactly like this: two minutes of triumph, then someone asks for a snack and the momentum … shifts. The modern battles aren’t about spears and shields; they’re about sleepless nights, school forms, hard teen conversations, calendar chaos, and the quiet ache of carrying everyone’s needs. And our arms? They get tired, whether from literally holding a kid who won’t be put down or from figuratively holding a family together. 

Here’s what I’m learning: I don’t have to muscle it out alone. Most of my wins come from faith, action, and support all working together.

Faith: My Grounding
Before I spiral, I pause. One deep breath at the sink. A quiet, honest prayer: Jesus, hold me steady. I don’t need perfect words.

Action: Faith with Feet
Faith doesn’t replace the to-do list; it reorganizes it. I ask, “What’s the next right thing — right now?” I picture Jesus beside me at the kitchen counter, not scolding my pace, just nudging me to take the small step in front of me. 

Support: Faith with Friends
I also look for the help Jesus sends, who often wear very normal faces. “Can you take bedtime tonight?” “Text me at 3 pm to ask if I did the hard thing?” “Walk with me while I rant for eight minutes?” Letting others lift a corner isn’t failure; it’s how grace travels. And I try to be that for someone else: a coffee drop-off, a ”you’ve got this text,” sharing a hack that saves ten minutes and two tears.

If victory depended on my arms staying up all day, we’d be waving a white flag. Good news: steadiness isn’t perfect. It’s a faith-filled pause, one faithful step, letting love show up through people.

Let us pray: Jesus, my hands feel full and a little wobbly. Be my centre when the day tilts. Give me a calm breath, the next right step, and the courage to ask for help. Steady my heart, guide my actions, and surround my home with your gentle strength. Amen.



Shelly Fillmore

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