My Prayer

I can feel the cloud moving in, but I'm trying to push it away.  Still, I find myself searching for some evidence that I am helping more than harming, making things better rather than worse, raising these kids in love and joy and acceptance rather than the fear and frustration and blame I sometimes feel I project.

Perfect love casts out fear.  Perfect love casts out fear.  Perfect love casts out fear.

My love is not perfect.

Perhaps that is not the point.

God's love is.  Do I trust him with my children?  Do I trust him to redeem my mistakes?  Do I trust him?

It is human nature to want to quit what we cannot do well.  As a parent, I feel constantly confronted by my failure.  But it's not like I can quit.

Maybe surrender is the alternative.  Can I surrender?

The short-term remedy when I'm questioning my role, my relationship with them, is to connect.  Solid, undivided attention is in order.  Play time of the highest magnitude is called for.  I know of no better way to communicate their value than to show them they matter to me.  To look them in the eye when they're talking, listen with my whole heart, and enter into the moment.  

I've been here before.  Will I ever move past it completely?  Two steps forward, one step back.  I hope.  Sometimes it seems more like one step forward, two steps back.  But it is only by grace that I step at all.

This is my prayer: that I can surrender these steps--in all their faltering and seeming futility--to a rhythm of Love so that this pilgrimage feels less like slogging and more like dancing.  Every day.  No matter how rocky the terrain or steep the ascent.