If you haven't heard Kelsea Ballerini's new song "I Sit in Parks," you should. 👇
The song opens with her taking in an ordinary family scene: the picnic, the sunscreen, the chaos of children. And it breaks her heart. The young mom she observes is the same age, living in the same world, from the same generation. But, as she writes in the song, the two of them are living wildly different Saturdays. She built a career, chased her dream, "did the tour," got everything she wanted … and now sits wondering if she "missed the mark."
That phrase is painfully familiar to many of us, because it strikes at the question that has haunted every human heart since Eden:
What if the thing I poured my life into wasn't the thing my soul was actually made for?
Ballerini's second verse sharpens the scene. She imagines a nursery and motherhood before delivering the most powerful line of the song, wondering if the mom on the blanket envies her freedom the same way she envies that woman's family. Each imagines the other is winning.
Meanwhile Rolling Stone assures her she's "on the right road," meaning the road of worldly success and accolades. So she refills her anti-depressant Lexapro and tries to steady the ache. Before the music drops out, she sings: "Tarryn's due in June. The album's due in March."
One life is growing. One project is looming. The first is eternal. The second is painfully temporary.
Ballerini feels the contrast.
What I appreciated more than anything was that Ballerini never framed this as a political argument, a moral crusade, or a sermon. She just admits the truth modern culture works overtime to silence: the truth that every human soul longs to make an impact that outlasts its own breath.
We all want to matter.
But sooner or later, everyone has to face the realization that most of what we spend our life chasing evaporates. Applause dies. Fame fades. Careers turn over. Algorithms forget you existed. But the eternal impact we make on people lasts, and that's especially true for the people living under our own roof.
This is why the longing for children in this song doesn't surprise me. It's not weakness. It's design. Creating life, shaping a soul, raising a human being to know the God who made them - that is the most impactful act a person can perform. That is legacy. That is discipleship in its rawest form.
Yet we live in a culture that conditions young women to suppress that instinct, and treat motherhood as a threat to freedom. We raise them to believe they'll miss out if they choose the very thing their soul is often aching for.
But here's the quiet, subversive truth: You can't deconstruct the design written into your own soul.
You can outrun it, medicate it, redefine it, mock it, and spin it into a brand. But eventually it finds you on a park bench, sunglasses on, vape in hand, watching a toddler laugh on a swing and wondering why your heart suddenly feels a heavy burden.
The pain is there because the design is there ... and the design is there because the Maker is.
P.S. Now check out our latest video 👇
Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Not the Bee or any of its affiliates.
