To say that I am not afraid would be lying. Of course I’m afraid.
I’m afraid of the run-of-the-mill things like one of my children being abducted or being hit by a car. I’m afraid that the bruises on their legs that seem to linger will turn out to be cancer or that I won’t be a good enough mother and one of our children will never know the Lord.
I’m afraid I’ll fail my husband or my parents or my friends or all of them at the same time. I’m afraid I won’t be obedient enough to the Lord and I’ll suffer the consequences of my short comings. I’m afraid I’ll get so caught up in the day to day that I’ll never remember our children at the ages they are now.
A few nights ago I sat staring at a picture of Elizabeth when she was just about 3 years old. I willed myself to remember her tiny frame embracing me at that exact age.
I couldn’t.
A lump rose in my throat as I realized that I will never, ever get those days back. Forever she’ll be bigger than that chubby faced, wild haired almost-three year old in the picture. Never again will I hear her three year old voice or brush her wild, blond, fresh curls away from her pudgy little almost-three year old cheeks. I looked at her plump baby hands curled around a popsicle stick and forced my mind to remember what those fingers felt like intertwined with mind.
I couldn’t.
Fear overwhelmed me as I realized that those memories had faded quickly from my mind and as much as I will it, I cannot stop my children from growing.
The truth is, if I could keep our children the ages they are now and hold them in this season forever, I would. Yes, it’s exhausting. Diapers and snacks are endless. I’m sleep deprived and short on patience most days. But the alternative is forgetting. And I’m afraid I will forget and never again remember them exactly as they are now.
Then, there’s the biggest fear of all.
Africa.
My heart longs to go so desperately and then fear overwhelms me and my mind races with the what ifs.
What if we go and it breaks their little hearts too much?
What if they catch malaria?
What if they die?
What if they hate us for taking them?
What if we are making a mistake?
I cry out to God begging Him to confirm this calling just one more time. He always does.
I hurl fear-based questions at Him praying He hears them and calms my anxiety.
He reminds me that there is fear in every choice He has led us in as we obey His calling on our lives.
There’s fear in homeschooling, that I won’t be enough or do enough or prepare them adequately.
There’s fear in vaccinations, that they’ll suffer negative consequences from them or that by delaying them we’ve exposed them to diseases or that we’re being neglectful by omitting some.
There’s fear that we’ve had too many children, that they’ll never know just how truly special they each are or that they’ll resent having so many siblings or that we’ll miss a milestone in their lives.
There’s fear at every turn. Africa is no different it’s just on a bigger scale.
The Lord reminds me that I am merely a steward of these gifts He’s given me. They really aren’t mine anyway. They are His. He loves them so much more than I can even comprehend. And for some crazy reason, He trusts me to nurture, love, raise and disciple them here on this earth. I can’t say why but He does.
Isn’t He afraid I’ll blow it?
There is no fear in love.
He loves me. And he loves them. More than anything I can comprehend, His love is everlasting.
So no, He's not afraid I'll blow it because He already knows that I'll mess up. He sees my mistakes and acknowledges them, knowing that He holds their futures, their pasts and their present all in the palm of His hand.
He has called us to parent this colony of children. He arranged and ordained our family to be in perpetual chaos. He knew it all before the dawn of time. He knew the day each of them would take their first breath and the day they will each draw their last.
If When bad things happen, I must trust in Him that He has His best in mind for me and for them.
I sank back into the pillows of the couch and continued staring at the photo of Elizabeth. "I can see some Ella in there and also some Abigail, can't you?" I say to Luke as he leans in closer and we look at this girl that we once knew.
"She's so big now," he says whispered, as if saying it loudly will make the time pass more quickly.
And again, fear lept into my throat.
I don't want to forget.
Please, Lord, let me remember these days. Let me not rush through them so quickly that I look back and wonder how I got here and where those chubby face babes went.
But mostly Lord, let me not fear your plans for me. Instead, let me press in close to the love you have for me and take great comfort in your desires for our life. Let your perfect love cast out all of my fears.
I’m afraid of the run-of-the-mill things like one of my children being abducted or being hit by a car. I’m afraid that the bruises on their legs that seem to linger will turn out to be cancer or that I won’t be a good enough mother and one of our children will never know the Lord.
I’m afraid I’ll fail my husband or my parents or my friends or all of them at the same time. I’m afraid I won’t be obedient enough to the Lord and I’ll suffer the consequences of my short comings. I’m afraid I’ll get so caught up in the day to day that I’ll never remember our children at the ages they are now.
A few nights ago I sat staring at a picture of Elizabeth when she was just about 3 years old. I willed myself to remember her tiny frame embracing me at that exact age.
I couldn’t.
A lump rose in my throat as I realized that I will never, ever get those days back. Forever she’ll be bigger than that chubby faced, wild haired almost-three year old in the picture. Never again will I hear her three year old voice or brush her wild, blond, fresh curls away from her pudgy little almost-three year old cheeks. I looked at her plump baby hands curled around a popsicle stick and forced my mind to remember what those fingers felt like intertwined with mind.
I couldn’t.
Fear overwhelmed me as I realized that those memories had faded quickly from my mind and as much as I will it, I cannot stop my children from growing.
The truth is, if I could keep our children the ages they are now and hold them in this season forever, I would. Yes, it’s exhausting. Diapers and snacks are endless. I’m sleep deprived and short on patience most days. But the alternative is forgetting. And I’m afraid I will forget and never again remember them exactly as they are now.
Then, there’s the biggest fear of all.
Africa.
My heart longs to go so desperately and then fear overwhelms me and my mind races with the what ifs.
What if we go and it breaks their little hearts too much?
What if they catch malaria?
What if they die?
What if they hate us for taking them?
What if we are making a mistake?
I cry out to God begging Him to confirm this calling just one more time. He always does.
I hurl fear-based questions at Him praying He hears them and calms my anxiety.
He reminds me that there is fear in every choice He has led us in as we obey His calling on our lives.
There’s fear in homeschooling, that I won’t be enough or do enough or prepare them adequately.
There’s fear in vaccinations, that they’ll suffer negative consequences from them or that by delaying them we’ve exposed them to diseases or that we’re being neglectful by omitting some.
There’s fear that we’ve had too many children, that they’ll never know just how truly special they each are or that they’ll resent having so many siblings or that we’ll miss a milestone in their lives.
There’s fear at every turn. Africa is no different it’s just on a bigger scale.
The Lord reminds me that I am merely a steward of these gifts He’s given me. They really aren’t mine anyway. They are His. He loves them so much more than I can even comprehend. And for some crazy reason, He trusts me to nurture, love, raise and disciple them here on this earth. I can’t say why but He does.
Isn’t He afraid I’ll blow it?
“So we have come to know and to believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him. By this is love perfected with us, so that we may have confidence for the day of judgment, because as he is so also are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love.
(1 John 4:16-18 ESV, emphasis mine)”
(1 John 4:16-18 ESV, emphasis mine)”
There is no fear in love.
He loves me. And he loves them. More than anything I can comprehend, His love is everlasting.
So no, He's not afraid I'll blow it because He already knows that I'll mess up. He sees my mistakes and acknowledges them, knowing that He holds their futures, their pasts and their present all in the palm of His hand.
He has called us to parent this colony of children. He arranged and ordained our family to be in perpetual chaos. He knew it all before the dawn of time. He knew the day each of them would take their first breath and the day they will each draw their last.
I sank back into the pillows of the couch and continued staring at the photo of Elizabeth. "I can see some Ella in there and also some Abigail, can't you?" I say to Luke as he leans in closer and we look at this girl that we once knew.
"She's so big now," he says whispered, as if saying it loudly will make the time pass more quickly.
And again, fear lept into my throat.
I don't want to forget.
Please, Lord, let me remember these days. Let me not rush through them so quickly that I look back and wonder how I got here and where those chubby face babes went.
But mostly Lord, let me not fear your plans for me. Instead, let me press in close to the love you have for me and take great comfort in your desires for our life. Let your perfect love cast out all of my fears.
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| Lucas, 14 months |
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| Ashlee, 14 months |
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| Elizabeth, a few weeks before her 3rd birthday |