I feel You there. Pushing me to let go. Urging me to let go and give You the reins.
I hear You say You’re in control and everything will be just fine. That I need to have faith.
I know all of this and yet here I sit, tears flowing, trying, once again, to take control. Trying diligently to find the right answer.
But what about my family? Am I doing everything right to keep them safe? Will we be financially stable? Is the economy even stable? Is the world stable?
What if my anxiety leaks through my pathetic facade and my kids sense it? Surely they’ll be ruined, right?
Am I doing a good job at keeping them safe and happy and blissfully unaware of the world around them?
Are their tantrums and ill attitudes evidence that I have failed to keep them unaware and safe?
Like a whisper next to my ear, I hear You telling me to trust You.
But I am struggling.
I want answers. I want to fix it. I want to make it better.
So I make a list. I devise a plan. I create a schedule. I work to gain control.
I convince myself this schedule will be the answer. And if not, well, then surely I will devise a system that will work better. Tomorrow is a new day, and I am certain this time I have it all figured out.
But here I am. Confined to my home. Three children to entertain within the boundaries of these walls, and I feel the weight of uncertainty and failure coming down. Every attempt to gain control has me feeling more and more unraveled.
At first, it seemed promising. Quarantine was a gift in so many ways.
A time to slow down. A time to focus on family. A time to be together and savor the little moments. Oh, what a blessing!
Sure the world was scary and the unknown loomed everywhere, but I declared I would focus on the silver lining. I will catch up on so much, I thought.
So I made a list. And then I made a schedule. Oh, the joy of being in control.
And at first, it was fun. To-dos were being checked off, we were playing outside in the sunshine, our little world was magical.
But now we are nearly three months deep and the Groundhog Day effect has lost its luster.
Sure there is still beauty in slow moments together and the unrushed snuggles. But it is hard to deny the ever-present vibrations of uncertainty under our feet.
Sometimes the security of the world feels iffy at best. No one can agree and what we should do is anyone’s guess.
My heart races. I worry endlessly that I’m failing my kids. The weight of our future is heavy. I envy the moms who seem to flawlessly orchestrate their days. I wonder why I feel so behind?
I am good at being organized. I am a natural planner. So why does life seem so messy right now?
Then here You are again. In the stillness of this night as I struggle to fall asleep, I feel you, Lord. Even though I’ve pushed You away and tried to control my own life, You stayed.
In all my worry, in all the moments of overwhelm, mom-guilt, and stress . . . You have never left.
I hear You again, reminding me You’re in control. I hear You say again that I am safe, we are safe, everything will be OK.
I can feel Your peace.
Alright, Lord, I’m listening.