My mom fell today. She’s OK.
But she fell on her face so her nose looks pretty scary. (I’m not sharing that picture!)
We are grateful that her nose wasn’t broken and all other bones are where they should be.
But isn’t it ironic.
My sisters and nieces—we take turns staying here to take care of her. To help her remember what to do.
And so that she doesn’t fall!!
Whether you and I are taking care of children or parents, we share a similar focus…
We don’t want them to get hurt. Ever.
We want to protect them and make their worlds easy and safe.
We try to control their situations or the environments or their actions because we love them. It doesn’t come from a power place…it comes from a place of care and compassion.
I was thinking a lot this afternoon about my friends who wish they had more control around people they love.
Friends who have children and grandchildren who grew up in the church. These kids were loved deeply, heard about Jesus, and yet…they are still struggling to find their faith way.
Thinking about friends who have husbands and wives who are depressed. Sick. Scared.
Thinking about friends who have parents who don’t remember.
We want to protect these children and grandchildren and parents and loved ones who are lost, worn out, or scared, don’t we?
We want to wrap our arms around them and keep them from everything bad or hurtful.
We want to shield them from anything that might hurt their bones, spirits, and hearts.
We wish we could control their environments so hurtful things don’t happen to them.
Our intentions are bold and come from the best place in our hearts.
But we can’t, can we.
We can’t keep our arms around them 24/7.
You’ve probably heard the suggestion that we are to release these people we love so much–release our worry about them–to God’s care, and trust that He will take care of them.
I know that’s truth. Really, I do.
But today? Today that feels a little too…like something I read on a bumper sticker.
I want to love my mom, care for my mom, provide security to my mom…knowing that sometimes, she is still going to get hurt. I can’t prevent all the tough stuff.
I can’t control everything.
But I can be the safety net that is there when she needs a soft place to land.
The caring place. The praying place.
Today I’m not willing to let go and stop worrying with both arms open.
Today I’m keeping one arm around my mom’s shoulders and one arm lifted to say, Yes, Jesus, she’s in your care. Thank you.
Today, that feels right.