“The name of the LORD is a strong tower; 

the righteous man runs into it and is safe.”

Proverbs 18:10

My deep breaths just can’t seem to fill up my lungs.  I am trying to push my invisible- passenger-break as hard as I can, but it seems the pace of this car will just not slow.  Everything they told me came true.  In my tired and exhausted days of newborn cries and toddler correction, I shrugged and thought 17 was a galaxy away.  Lightyears even.  It ended up a turning a page.  And yes, I wouldn’t want the tantrums and endless diaper days to return, but I would take the little hand in mine, the singing one more verse to sleep, the wild princess dress-ups, and the carrying to bed because she didn’t last the whole movie.  I’d take those days back in an instant.  Without a thought.  

My oldest has turned 17 and this is our last year homeschooling together.  She was my guinea pig as I walked out in obedience the call to home educate.  She braved my every “lets try this” or “well, that didn’t work” and especially the “maybe we made a mistake” seasons.  They all added up to 13 grades of tears and belly laughs, relearning and wonder.  As her siblings were added to the class roster, they got to walk the path she and I carved out together.  She has given them someone to lean on when math or reading got too hard, she would knowingly smile and assure them, “I got through it, so will you.”  She encouraged me when I knew I didn’t have what it takes to keep every plate spinning.  Let them fall, let us go forward in Grace.

Here she is.  17 and gloriously still becoming.  She is passing through that mist where she will learn from other voices.  She will soon let go of my hand and my little school room will decrease.  She will go and be all that I ever prayed for.  Such heartbreaking and dangerous prayers for a mother to pray.  Because they will rip and reshape you—but, I think I see that this is the point of motherhood.  My heart of flesh is “already” and “not yet”.  With each way my children grow and thrive apart from me, that stone of independence from My Father, begins to beat red with need.  

To mother in Christ, we need God more than we did the day before.  To let them go, we need to know how deeply we are held in His hand.  We need to remember that they have always belonged to Him.  We can freely love and celebrate each stage of growth because it’s His story he is telling in them.  

This is my petition, because even though I know this truth—I need help to believe it.  Maybe you are in a season of mothering (either through your own biological children, through fostering and adoption, or as a spiritual mother) and you are living in a time of change.  It could be tumultuous as you watch a child live out hard consequences, or bittersweet as you see them come into all the many prayers you have whispered in the night.  Take courage my friend.  Let us meet at His feet—may he give us needy hearts and open hands.

Father God—

We come to You because you are the Only One who can truly understand the heart of a parent.  You who came to your people by Moses, assuring them that Israel was your son (Ex. 4:22-23) have sought to meet and shape your people by parentage.  Humble our hearts in this truth—we are able to mother because you created us in your image.  That same image bears out in every way we are a shelter to our children.  As we feed and provide for them, there You are.  As we teach them to speak and read and learn.  As we protect them from harm, stilling our breath as we watch them feel out life and all its possible hurts—we find Your Face deeper still.  Waiting, correcting, comforting, forgiving, wiping tears, jumping with joy.  All these ways we mother are because you have given us More Grace than we can fathom to walk this calling out.  You have given us Yourself, the Image of Your Son to stand in.  Praise you Father!  We mother in the power of your Mighty Name and Righteousness.

We know mercy because You are Mercy.  Every-time we mothered in our own gumption, you let us fail.  Thank you.  Every-time we disciplined out of frustration and embarrassment, you let us feel that grief and assured us that shame is not to be a part of our lives anymore.  Not the giving out or the taking in.  Mothering is the building of souls, not the building of burdens on our children’s backs.   Thank you for reminding us.  Thank you for gently telling us this, “You don’t have what it takes to mother on your own.  Stay needy.  Remain in me.”  You are a good Father, and because of that we have the possibility to be good mothers.  This is what heals and can unload a century of baggage.  Thank you.

You know where we are now, Father.  There is a cliff’s edge, a sharp bend, a rushing river.  You are calling our charges across, and for us to stay put.

How?  How did all the crawling years and long nights, the crocodile tears and tummy aches, the first blush of puberty and defiance—How did all that time lead us here?  We are the most prepared (the whole of community has told us these years are short) and yet at a loss on how to stand here and watch the tender face that reflects our own go on ahead.  

Help us to recall and remember that You know this feeling well.  You, Father God, watched Your Only Son descend down to us.  The most dangerous and ravaging place.  You saw Him set aside his Throne and Glory, to be a child in the world.  Like our children in a wild and wicked land, You launched Him as a pilgrim on uncertain shores.  You did that for the Glory of Your Name and to ransom many children to yourself.  You get it.  You are acquainted with this grief.  This is what children of the Promise were made for—sending out.

Yes, we need your help.  Help to remind us that these children are not ours.  We have only been stewards.  Their stories have always been yours.  You alone hold the number of their days.  You alone have the ability to sustain them and lead them, speak to them and grow them into a people for your possession.  We can’t do that by holding on to them, our tight grips will only squeeze out life.  But Your hand?  Your hand is sure and steady.  Nothing leaves it once placed inside.  Nothing can stand against it.  It is these hands that heal the world.  Our children are safe there, just as we have been all along as mothers.  

No matter if they are heading down the road, across the state, or to another land altogether—there Your Presence will be.  No matter how hard the mountain climb is or how dense the valley—there Your Spirit will lead them.  

Father, let us never forget that you are leading us too.  You aren’t done with us.  Our mothering has just shifted.  Fill us up to pour out over the miles and messages.  You have given us all we need to shore up the nest, to rearrange, to prepare for what comes next.  We are mothers till the end.  Help us to lay down our lives in this different way, in a way that shows we trust You.  In a way that tells our children, “You never outgrown your need for The Father—it only widens.  Fall fearlessly into that chasm.”  

Thank you for the years of child rearing.  Thank you for the way it shaped us like nothing else could.  Thank you for the precise way it cut and carved away every ounce of self.  Thank you that it was hard.  Thank you that it was more than we ever could have dreamed.  Our dreams were too small.  

Growing the least of these, right here in this far country has given us an echo of Hope and Heaven.  This isn’t home, just as our children go on to find an earthly one of their own—You are calling us, whom you have chosen, to a Better City.  In grace you have made Your Kingdom to come in this family and it grows by us launching these arrows further up and in.  Father, only You could sing that song over us and make it come to pass.  Only You, in your Divine Parenting, can help us see what was the vision for all these years.  It was for our good and Your Glory.

As they close chapters, and fill out applications for far off places of learning and discipline and purpose, keep our eyes on You and this perspective— Your plan for them is perfect.  As they pray and we pray for direction, keep our souls tethered to this promise—You will never leave or desert them.  As we celebrate the “lasts” and anticipate the grown-up “firsts”, keep our hearts from running away rampant with nostalgia—You have made everything beautiful in its time.  As we go from running along side them to waving from the car or at the airport curb, keep our fragile spirits steady in our calling as mothers—You have filled our days with purpose and You will continue still.  

We lift these heavy things up to you—Our Father and Our God.  All our Hope is in You.  All our mothering is for You.  Comfort us and help us to rest in this—We are always Your Children and Your Affection for us fills oceans.  Our mothering may change, but You do not.  

Your Powerful Name is Matchless and it is a Strong Tower for our souls,  

Amen.