On My Knees

It's been almost a year since I last wrote.  Funny how words used to just flow out of me, but now much of my day is spent listening instead of writing.  Listening to the kids play, listening to Minecraft plans, listening to squabbles, listening to recaps of soccer games.  It is often said we need to spend more time listening and less time speaking.  This year, I want to add to that. I want to spend more time praying.

Prayer is something I didn't struggle with too much until I had kids.  And then it was still easy to pray for the basic things - good attitudes, health, and safety -  but I confess it came at a pretty superficial level.  I was amazed at the people who prayed for their children's spouses when their kids were still newborns.  It wasn't just the dedication that impressed me so much; it was the control they seemed to be giving up.  At the moment I'm a pretty big fan of arranged marriages.  And arranged careers.  And arranged high school classes and extra curriculars.  Because my Mother Heart has me pretty sure I will make better choices for my kids than they will make for themselves.  And I want the absolute best for them.

Even if this isn't the way that life works, and  I can't pick their spouses, I somehow try to maintain a sense of control about their lives.  With the three being as young as they are, this is in many ways very necessary; they don't have the ability to meet their own needs and make the right choices.  But it goes deeper than just making them eat a vegetable at lunch or reminding them to brush their teeth.  It comes from a place of distrust, not in them, but in God.

I struggle to pray for my kids.  It's the truth.  In my misguided sense of control, I start to believe that if I pray and release my children fully into God's hands, if I trust his control and his plan, that something bad will happen.  That there will be brokenness and heartache.  It comes from the same place that kept me from fully letting God have my life in high school because I worried that would mean he would send me to Africa.  The misguidedness of this is astonishing, because there is already brokenness.  There is already pain.  And I cannot control it.  But in my head, if I don't release them, they can't be touched.  And my Mother Heart wants to keep them from pain at any cost.

How in the world do I think that I, a broken and imperfect human, have a better plan for my children than the Creator God, the Giver of life and of gifts and of redemption? Oh, Mother Heart you have it so wrong.  You cannot keep them from pain.  Your children are on loan to you as a gift, to be protected, guided, and loved in partnership with your Loving Father.  He loves them more than you ever could, and though there will be pain and heartache, there is a plan for their redemption.  By refusing to let go, by refusing to pray, you are shouldering a burden that you cannot carry.  Let Him shoulder the pain, and allow yourself the knowledge that He is good.  Releasing your children is scary, but it brings peace.  Trying to hold on to them and maintain control is an illusion, and it is exhausting.  My desire for the year is to pray for these little ones, return them to God, and know that the struggles they go through, they will not go through them alone, because not only will they have a God who loves them, but a mother who is on her knees fighting for them.