I sit here this morning having found my soul pondering what it is to trust God in the lives of my children. As a mother, I want to give them good things: to train them to live rightly: to point them in the right direction: to give wise counsel: to protect them from evil: to keep them from making mistakes they may later regret. This burden fills my heart as I am sure it fills the heart of many mothers. It compels me to speak, to train, to give. But last night, as I was praying, I was pierced with conviction of the Holy Spirit, that perhaps I have not always trusted Him and His way of speaking to my children. Perhaps I speak more words than necessary, particularly in the lives of my older children where they have to find their own way with the Lord. Their faith cannot be mine. They must have their own. They must make mistakes and learn from them. The words of Oswald Chambers ring in my ears, "The one passion of Paul's life was to proclaim the Gospel of God. He welcomed heartbreaks, disillusionment, tribulation, for one reason only, because these things kept him in unmoved devotion to the Gospel of God."
Truly, the one and only thing I long for in my children is for them to love God with all of their heart, soul, and mind and to love the people of this world as the Lord does. I do not care what this looks like in each of their lives, for it will look very different from one child to another. Yet this may bring heartache, disappointment, pain that I cannot shield them from. Can I trust the Lord with this? Can I stand back, keep my mouth closed and my opinions to myself when the Holy Spirit calls me to silence? Truly, I feel the immense conflict that must have been in the soul of Abraham as he lay Isaac on the altar. The pain of the altar is real. Without that pain, it would not be called sacrifice.
This does not mean that I cannot speak into their lives, but it does mean that I want to be so sensitive to the Holy Spirit that I only speak when compelled by Him to do so. There is so much He sees that I cannot. There is so much He wants to show them Himself, and I do not want to stand in His way. Can I trust Him to speak to them in times of need? Can I let go? If my children are to find intimacy with the Savior, I must.
This trust is a daily sacrifice, but it is a trust in the One who created the universe yet cares for the sparrow who falls to the ground. It is a trust in the One who numbers the stars yet knows the number of hair on my head. It is the trust of Hannah who gave Samuel to the temple once weaned, because she knew who God was. Yes, I say with joyful confidence mingled with the pain of sacrifice, "I am counting on God."