Am I ready for this?

I plopped down in my school chair at the school table, ready for a first day back after two weeks off.

I was ready.

Coffee in hand, schedule out. 

Let's hit it.

Not 15 minutes into school, tears started pouring down my daughter's face. 

I sent the boy off to play {"What? Play? No school?" He happily scampered off.}

What gushed out of my sweet daughter was weeks of pent up feelings, thoughts, emotions and prayers that she had been struggling with on her own.

I had no idea.

As I sat and listened to her, my emotions flooded together. I struggled and mentally cried out, "Oh, Lord. HELP!"

As she shared her heart, what flew against me was that she had wrestled with an issue, just she and the Lord. She asked Him for direction, and He gave it to her.

She said, "Mom. He told me what to do. I finally heard Him..."

She'd been wanting to hear His voice. Wondering when she would.

And what she came to me with was such an assault on my senses. Huge grown up issues that she had been wrestling with and wanting answers to.

And she confronted me, with tears and gentleness, about why I haven't shared things with her that she wanted to know. 

As we talked, I had my open Bible in front of me. I kept touching it for reassurance, sharing with her God's plan and God's Words.

I'm so out of my comfort zone here. Gone are the days of potty training, Sesame Street and sleep issues.

Here we are. Teaching and learning how to follow Christ in all of His ways.

I'm not ready for this.

Or am I?

Have I spent enough time in His Word? Have I prayed enough. Have I meditated on His Word enough? Enough to parent well through these hard days?

Maybe. Maybe I am ready.

It was hard. Hard to look in her eyes and confess through my own tears that I hoped she wasn't sorry that I was her mother. That I worked hard to be the kind of mother that she could love and be thankful for. 

This was not what I bargained for when I sat down in my school chair.

As I look, even know, out the back door at her as she walks in the grass, thinking, pondering and praying, I know that I have to trust Christ to care for her. I know that I am teaching her how to be obedient to Him, to hear His voice, to be in His Word and to serve Him forever. I know that He will continue to carry her like He has the past few weeks. 

And what else did I learn from today?

As I asked her to trust me, to trust that I knew, guided by the Spirit, what was best for her, I heard God whisper to me, "And this goes for you too. I know what's best for you."

As I asked her to trust me, I heard God whispering, "And you have to trust Me."

This parenting thing. It's tough. It makes me rely on Him more. Seek Him more. Pray more. Cling more.

And you know what? It makes me tired.

Is it bedtime yet?


I hear my daughter singing and catch a glimpse of her twirling, in a new hand-me-down dress, past the door of the room where I sit, exhausted in so many ways.

I see the lightness of heart in her. I see the bounce in her step. I hear the lilt in her voice as she sings. Loudly. She feels lighter. A burden shared and then, released.

And strangely I feel more weighed down. I know what she faces. I  know what she's up against. I know what seeks to steal her away. I know what wants to take her joy. I know the devices he uses. What God created that He meant for good that she was questioning me about today. He will try to use it against her.

But greater is He that is in us, than he that is in the world. (1 John 4:4)

I'm so thankful for that. As I go, to pay bills, gather tax documents, clean, cook and direct the bedtime routine, I feel the song sweetly echo in my thoughts...

Perfect submission, all is at rest; 

I in my Savior am happy and blest, 
watching and waiting, looking above, 
filled with his goodness, lost in his love.

I struggle to release my burden to Him who says that His yoke is light. His burden is easy. (Matthew 11:30) He carries the load.

He is my resting place.