When parenting is agonizing

Two recent conversations have had me thinking a lot about what it means to wear the hat of "Mama." It is, undoubtedly, one of the titles in my life of which I am very proud. But it is also one which often leaves me immensely stressed.

Since Mary Michelle was born 10.5 years ago, we've gone through lots of transitions. We stopped adding to our family and kids have actually started moving away to start their own lives.

[Little side note to our bigs who often read these posts... Daddy and Mama are ready to start adding to the fam again... but its your turn! Significant others and then, Lord willing after that, grand-kids, are welcome. Mama's gotten to hold some really teensy tiny littles recently and she thinks it is lots of fun! She doesn't care if you think this little  «parenthèse entre guillmets » is goofy! And yes, she is referring to herself in the third person.]

Sorry for that interruption! Ok, not really...But back to what I was wanting to say: in between today and Mary's arrival 10 plus years ago, it seems like most of our friends, as well, moved out of that new-baby growing family stage. Recently, however, there's been a stampede of younger friends having babies. 

I went to visit one of those sweet little families the other evening. It was a treat to listen to all that God has done for them, to grieve with them a little those expectations that weren't realized, to excitedly anticipate what God will do in the days, weeks and months ahead, and to remember when Tim and I held our first precious gift in our arms. As parents, we often have the message preached at us, in one way or another, that "the well-being and welfare of children should always be our focus." We are to care for their physical, emotional and spiritual well-being to the very best of our abilities. As new parents, we are confident that we will do anything to do just that.

What those giving such sage counsel forget to mention is how easily those good goals become idols, and how we are often powerless and inept at protecting our children from what comes their way. Ensuring the security of our children, physically, emotionally and spiritually is a certainly a laudable goal and one for which we should aim.

But... 

But that desire needs to be balanced with the reality of life in a broken world, ravaged by the effects of sin and the truth that it is what comes out of us that defiles us, not what is inflicted upon us. Security in this world is an illusion we strive mightily to maintain, and is often an attempt to ignore the sometimes painful sovereignty of God.

I also recently visited with another mother. Her child is older, but is experiencing really hard, unjust and unfair things inextricably linked with the consequences of sinful behavior choices. My heart physically aches for her and her child. For no matter how old our children get (I'm convinced more and more of this fact), parents long to protect them, and will go to extremes to do so. This mother is agonizing over the fact that she can't force the bad to stop, erase the hurt and then move bravely forward leaving the trauma behind.

I tried to remind her: God's hand is sovereign and He controls all that touches the lives of our children. Even when we don't believe we can trust the people and events influencing and shaping our children, we can trust the ultimate artist. God cares for them so much more than we do, He is always present, and it is often in the most difficult that we begin to catch glimpses of the masterpiece He is molding our young people to be...

It is agonizingly hard... and I'm not talking about that theoretically. I've lived it.

While still in Niger, our older children attended a French language primary school. It was not a choice I originally wanted to make - my coup de coeur had always been to home school - but because of many circumstances outside of my control and our missionary budget realities, it was the choice we felt we had to make. And then came the day that one of our daughters came home from school with a lump and a decent cut (and blood stains in her blond hair) on her head. 

It was our 11 year old son who recounted the story. He, in fact, was the one who ran across the courtyard to protect his sister, not a teacher or one of the playground monitors.  Why did this happen to our daughter? Probably because she was a white girl with blond hair and blue eyes and the gal that violently accosted her probably wanted to intimidate her. If I remember correctly, she thought our daughter's long blonde hair was a wig or extensions, and she wanted it for herself. I was traumatized... 

Yet the next day, we had to send her right back into that lion's den, and I couldn't be there to physically protect her. What I really wanted to do was smack a couple of teachers' heads into the wall, first for allowing it to happen and then for not even having the nerve to directly tell us about it when we came to pick her up from school that day.

We, of course, did meet with the teachers and the administration. We spoke with the girl  that had hurt our daughter. We talked about and rehearsed strategies that our daughter could use to prevent a similar event from reoccurring. We put her brother on guard - he knew was to look out for her and to immediately seek adult help if he felt that something was off. It was awkward. Everything in my mother heart told me it was not enough, that the probability of a repeat occurrence was high.

It wasn't enough. Because all of those actions we took? They were what we could arrange on our own, without reliance on God. Ultimately, our security, the security of our children rests in the hands of our sovereign, all-powerful, omnipresent God. 

When I recently asked my daughter about returning to school the next day - if she was afraid, she said that while she clearly remembered the event, she did not remember being afraid. And then she told me why: she remembered the different strategies we gave her, she felt able to execute them, and she remembered that the other girl had been strongly reprimanded by the authorities at the school once they intervened. I think there was one other thing that helped her, even though she didn't mention it. She naturally and easily trusted God, with a child's faith, to work things out and somehow take care of her. 

If I hadn't sent her back to school that next day, she would have missed that opportunity.

Did He stop other bad things from happening to our children while they attended that school? While they lived in Niger? Once they returned to the States? After we moved them yet again, to Canada? 

No. In this life, stuff will happen. 

We won't understand why. 

We will feel powerless. 

We will be angry and overwhelmed by emotions we don't want to experience.

It is what I, as a parent, do with "all of that" - that counts. 

It is what I model for my child that matters. 

Do I use each difficult situation unjust circumstance as an opportunity to let Christ increase while I decrease as the protector, provider and preserver of my kid's well-being?

And today? 

Well, we recently saw that childlike faith and trust demonstrated again, in the midst of events that had her far-away-parents more than just a little worried. We saw her big brother step up to the plate and help look out for her - a skill he'd practiced at least once before, all those years ago. God allowed frustration after frustration in this particular situation, but He also brought His arms, His hands - in the form of His people - to lend a physical hand and care for her. So even while I'd chewed my nails down to the quick... 

God gifted me another opportunity practice trusting Him with some of the ones I count most precious of all.

May I never forget to thank Him for those moments.