I won't deny it.
I am a perfectionist. I am Type A.
I like to be in control.
The past three years, one month, and three days have taught me over and over that I am not.
In so many areas of life, trying your best and working the hardest and having a little talent besides will get you a long ways. And I like to be good at what I do.
But being a mother has challenged me to the core. The harder I try to hold things together, the sooner it falls apart. The more that I feel the need to be in control, the sooner I realize that I absolutely am not.
Somewhere in the middle of this mess, I have to stop and ask myself what my goals truly are. Because as much as I strive to raise well-behaved, good-mannered children who are always kind, respectful, intelligent, and loving, I am failing. And sometimes, I'm not just failing, but I'm drowning.
And as I'm going under, there is nothing to do but to reach up.
To ask Him to pull me out and rescue me.
To beg Him to take this mess I've made and turn it into something beautiful.
To let Him be in charge again.
And maybe if my kids can look at me and see that I am nothing without my Lord and Savior, I will actually have taught them something worthwhile.
I've been reflecting on the story of Abraham and Isaac today and imagining what it must have been like for Abraham to be willing to give up his only son, to trust that God's plan was better than his own.
I know that I need to let go.
To release my children to God's control.
To trust that His plan is better than mine could ever be.
To stop worrying about being a good mother and instead pray that I can show them Jesus.
I am trusting you to guide me. You alone shall lead.
Every day and hour supplying all my need.