Mackenzie started middle school last week. She's been fine. I have not because I've walked this road that now lies before her. I know what is ahead. In the next four years, she is likely to be cut deeply by some of life's growing pains, and I am scared to death to watch my daughter bleed.
I get a knot in my stomach when I think about the day that she will walk into the lunchroom to find that no one saved her a seat, her eyes will desperately scan the room filled with hundreds of kids, and she will feel alone. My heart starts to race when I consider that she will tell the teacher she lost an assignment, refusing to let the tears that burn her eyes run down her face and add to her embarrassment. I dread the moment that the results are announced, and her name is not on the list. My chest becomes warm as I imagine her walking past an assembled group of girls who quickly silence their conversation, but do not stifle their glares or giggles.
I get a knot in my stomach when I think about the day that she will walk into the lunchroom to find that no one saved her a seat, her eyes will desperately scan the room filled with hundreds of kids, and she will feel alone. My heart starts to race when I consider that she will tell the teacher she lost an assignment, refusing to let the tears that burn her eyes run down her face and add to her embarrassment. I dread the moment that the results are announced, and her name is not on the list. My chest becomes warm as I imagine her walking past an assembled group of girls who quickly silence their conversation, but do not stifle their glares or giggles.
I know that none of us ever have been or ever will be immune to the struggles of growing up, and I mourn the simpler days with an anxiousness that longs to turn back time. But I also know that is not God's plan for my baby girl.
In all of my worrying, I had forgotten something very important. God uses our heartache. He never lets one tear go to waste. I had been thinking about the hurts I faced, the ones I desperately wish I could shield my daughter from, but I had forgotten all about who healed those pains.
I had forgotten about the day I got home from school to find a clear plastic box filled with black and gold jelly beans and tied with long curly ribbon waiting for me on my bed. My mom knew I was having a hard time adjusting to fifth grade. The note on the box said four words, "I'm here for you," but what I read was you are loved and understood.
I had also forgotten about the blonde-headed girl who came up to me after class to tell me that she had forgotten her homework the week before. She turned out to be my best friend.
I can't say I'm serenading in these next few years with trumpets and celebration. But I will not fight to protect her from the heartache because those tears, those challenges may be the very things God wants to use to make her just who He wants her to be.
With that in mind, I am surrendering my worries. For the next four years, I will ask her about her day. I will buy her devotionals and books for tweens. I will pray out loud over her. I will tell her over and over that she is beautiful. I will hold her when she cries. I will share in her tears. And when I think she needs it, I will write her little notes that say, "I'm here for you." But most of all I will watch as God molds her and shapes her for His glory, and I will praise Him for it.
Promise for today:
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28
In all of my worrying, I had forgotten something very important. God uses our heartache. He never lets one tear go to waste. I had been thinking about the hurts I faced, the ones I desperately wish I could shield my daughter from, but I had forgotten all about who healed those pains.
I had forgotten about the day I got home from school to find a clear plastic box filled with black and gold jelly beans and tied with long curly ribbon waiting for me on my bed. My mom knew I was having a hard time adjusting to fifth grade. The note on the box said four words, "I'm here for you," but what I read was you are loved and understood.
I had also forgotten about the blonde-headed girl who came up to me after class to tell me that she had forgotten her homework the week before. She turned out to be my best friend.
I can't say I'm serenading in these next few years with trumpets and celebration. But I will not fight to protect her from the heartache because those tears, those challenges may be the very things God wants to use to make her just who He wants her to be.
With that in mind, I am surrendering my worries. For the next four years, I will ask her about her day. I will buy her devotionals and books for tweens. I will pray out loud over her. I will tell her over and over that she is beautiful. I will hold her when she cries. I will share in her tears. And when I think she needs it, I will write her little notes that say, "I'm here for you." But most of all I will watch as God molds her and shapes her for His glory, and I will praise Him for it.
Promise for today:
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28
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