Mold Me

Just when I think that perhaps, just perhaps, I am finally about to lift out of this fog, a new storm rumbles in.

May I just say…”I-AM-SO-TIRED-OF-THE-STRUGGLE.”

I’m tired of my son suffering from a mysterious physical ailment that no team of specialists can seem to figure out.

I’m tired of the struggle of raising a daughter who is a product of the failure of our state system when it comes to protecting it’s children.

I sat and talked for hours with a friend-who-is-more-than-a-sister today. And we both came to one agreement…parenting adult children is harder than parenting babies.

What? 😯

Say it isn’t so!

We’ve both agreed we get less sleep now than when they were babies. Why? Because if we aren’t crying, we are praying for them…or we are crying and praying for them at the same time.

The burden that is placed on the heart of a parent of an adult child is like nothing I have ever experienced. They are adults. They will make their own mistakes. They will fail. They will suffer. They will have to learn things the hard way.

Just like we did when we were their age.

Which is why it is so much harder for us.

Because we have been there. Because we know where it leads and how painful it is. Because we can no longer put a bandaid on it and kiss it and make it feel better. Because we cannot put them in their crib or playpen and stop them from harm. Because we can no longer supervise their play-dates.

And the list goes on and on.

My daughter asked me recently, “What has He done for me?”

It has struck me to the core…that she can even ask such a question. Did I not raise her right? Have I not taught her who she can depend on? That He alone can fill the emptiness if she would just let Him?

And then…my Father reminded me of something.

He is in charge, not me. He has it all under control, not me. He is who I should be focusing on…not me.

And then, He placed this verse in my head.

 “But now, O Lord, you are our Father;

we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand. Isaiah 64:8″

Mold me, Lord. Let me be the beautiful works of Your hand.

And let me break thru beautifully…