Worry, Rinse, Repeat

It's dark out now. The chaos of the day has faded with the final rays of a setting sun, and peace has descended once more. Sweet, wonderful peace.

And yet, I find my thoughts lingering on the chaos. On runny noses and temper-tantrums, bruised knees and slobbery kisses.

And, suddenly, the house is much too quiet. My heart swells painfully...

I love my kids.

More than I ever thought was humanly possible. I stare at them all day long and dream about them at night. I've committed their features to memory. Every dimple, every freckle, every fold.

I ache for my children.

Even now, as they're asleep in their rooms, I miss them terribly. I feel the phantom of their weight in my arms. I breathe in the intoxicating scent of their hair as it brushes against my cheek. I feel the persistent tug of tiny hands clutching at my clothes, clinging to me.

I would live in this moment forever, if only it were possible. With the kids at this exact age. So beautiful, so innocent, so completely amazing.

I think about them constantly.

Are they hungry, cold, sick? Do they know I love them?

And then, inevitably, my thoughts betray me.

What would I ever do without them?

In the stillness of the night, I lay in bed and imagine a thousand ways they could get hurt or taken from me. The evil in this world is unspeakable. And where there's not evil, there's sickness...disease. Fatal accidents can happen in seconds.

How would I live if something ever happened to Luke or Evie?

It's oppressive, this worry. It weighs me down, grinds me into the dirt and leaves me gasping for air. So, in desperation, I fall on my knees every night and plead with my Savior.

"Protect my children, Father. Please don't take them from me. Please..."

And tonight, in the silence, I hear the echo of His voice.

Give them to me.

I shake my head and start to cry.

"I can't! Don't you understand that they're everything to me? Bad things happen in this world...even to faithful Christians! Why should I expect to be protected from that?"

Again, I hear Him...

Give them to me.

Now, the anger comes. The helpless frustration.

"What if something terrible happens to them? What if that's your will?? I can't take that chance!"

His voice is calm. Sad, even...

Give them to me.

I'm sobbing now. Trembling with pain and fear.

"Oh, Jesus. I love them so much it hurts."

There is silence then, long and painful. Until, finally, I hear a whisper upon my heart...

So do I.

And suddenly, I remember Moses. The man that had an encounter with the Creator of the Universe...and argued with Him.

No matter how many times God reassured Moses that he would not be returning to Egypt alone, the man continued to doubt.

What if, what if, what if?

Finally, I just have to believe that God was fed up...

"Then Moses said to the Lord, 'Please, Lord, I have never been eloquent...for I am slow of speech and slow of tongue.' The Lord said to him, 'Who has made man's mouth? Who makes him mute or deaf, seeing or blind? Is it not I, the Lord?'" (Ex 4:10-11)

And then it hits me...I've been arguing with God as well. Here I am, telling the Savior of Man that I love my kids more than He does.

How utterly foolish...

To think that I can out-love the CREATOR of love.

To think that Christ's nail-pierced hands are somehow insufficient to hold and protect my children.

To think that God Himself, omniscient and omnipotent, would not know what's best for them.

Forgive me, Father.

Bad things might happen to Luke and Evie...I know it and I hate it. But God is bigger than all the evil and sickness in this world, and He is faithful.

And I know that, no matter what happens, there is no safer place for my precious children...than in His loving arms.



"Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you at the proper time, casting all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you."

1 Peter 5:6-7