"She is my Child"

Today, I came across a journal entry that I wrote in May of 2010.  As I read it, I was surprised that only two short years ago, some of the things I wrote about were new concepts to me. I'm so excited about the journey God is leading me into, and looking back, I realize I'm actually in a different place than I used to be.  I'm curious to know where I'll be in two years from now! Am I sure of everything I know?  No.  Do I sometimes feel my way in the dark?  Absolutely.  Do I doubt what I think I know?  Without a doubt (pun intended). 

Over the past couple of years, I've discovered that there is usually a question behind my questions.  God rarely answers my surface question.  But what He does answer touches my core, shows His intimate knowledge of me, shows Himself to be exceedingly gentle and ultimately GOOD.  His answer is always waaaay better than the question I'm asking.

I must also include a caveat about my daughter, Makenna. She is (and was) a beautiful, happy, respectful, content child. The "attitude" that I'm referring to is within the "normal" ranges of a girl her age.  She has also given me permission to write about this.

I humbly submit my journal entry from that spring evening in 2010 when a tired, frustrated mom brought a question to the God of the universe, and He gave ear to her voice.

I curl up in bed beside my sleeping 9-year-old, ideas from the book I've just closed churning in my head.  I am intrigued by the concept of practically including God in the mundane, day-to-day choices in my life.  My faith is increasing.  Unbelief is receding.  I believe God has answers for me and is willing to guide me.  So I lay in my daughter's bed, disturbed by a question I've asked since she was a toddler.  What are we going to do about her attitude?  The angry outbursts?  Nothing we're doing seems to be working long-term. 

So, I take a tentative step, I present a question... "God, what would you like to say to me about Makenna?".  Pause.  I sense a response. "She is my child". I repeat it out loud.  "She is your child." I feel a bit silly, like I'm in Communication 101.  Ask a question.  Listen.  Repeat back what you heard.  I'm "hearing" the basics, simple facts I've known my whole life.  I mean, many people I know would not consider it newsbreaking to discover that their child was God's. I resist the intrinsic impulse to dismiss the thought as my own.  To mock it.  Discredit it.  I repeat it silently, all the while staring at my sleeping treasure, blonde ringlets trailing down the side of her warm cheek.  "She is your child".  As I sit with the thought for a short while, however, I become overwhelmed by the implications of that statement.  In this moment, I realize much of my parenting in this area is fear-based - I want to control....my internal thoughts sound something like this..."what will we do to get rid of her attitude? We have to do it soon.  She'll be a teenager soon.  It'll just get worse.  We won't have a good relationship with her.  She'll rebel.  Is her heart even soft towards God, or is she mechanically and dutifully parroting the answers and worldview we are teaching her?"  Wow, pretty big stuff.  To a mom.  Jeepers. Where is all this coming from?

How on earth did posing one simple question and hearing one seemingly over-simplified answer cause so much fear and inadequacy to surface inside me? 

This is what I am learning.  That God brings up those negative feelings and long-stored memories inside me for a purpose...to heal me.  To dispel fear. To replace lies with truth.  To free me.

In that moment, I realize that God knows the question that's behind what I'm asking.  I'm asking for a method, something that I can do to get my kid under control.  Control the behaviour.  I'm looking for a solution, but I'm asking for a bandaid. But He wastes no time.  He's not into beating around the bush.

His comfort washes over me as the truth of "she is my child" settles inside me.  It's difficult to describe, but knowing that it's not all up to me relieves tremendous pressure.  It goes against my "if I won't do it, who will" attitude.   I can exhale.  I can rest.  "Yes God, you love her more than I do. I'm not alone in this.  She belongs to you.  I entrust her to you."  Receiving that message takes the pressure off parenting and "getting it right".  Yes, I'm still responsible to parent my child to the best of my ability, but God is not meeting with me to discuss all the ways I can improve.  Instead, God tugs me towards Himself.  I learn to trust Him with my heart a bit more, and out of that restored self (because being close to Him always restores us in some way, you know), I am able to parent my child with love and freedom, free from fear and perfectionism. Free to not control.  Free to lavish grace on my child. 

I pause momentarily, aware for perhaps the first time, that God really knows me better than I know myself.  His words cut to the core of who I am.  He can meet my deepest, unmet, silent longings.  And He is so gracious, gentle, and comforting. That's what always surprises me. He wants to erase my fears.  I'm beginning to think I may be able to entrust my heart to Him, after all.