"It's not fair! You don't even trust me!" My 12-year-old daughter slammed her bedroom door. I sighed heavily and slumped down on the couch. With my face in my hands, I questioned my mothering; I questioned my ability to handle a tween, and a tear started to form in the corner of my eye.
She wanted to walk home from school with her best friend to her house. She's always either ridden the bus or been picked up, and I said no. We had a fervent text battle earlier that afternoon when I told her no, and now that we were home, she wanted to punish me for telling her no.
It hadn't been a flippant answer; I had weighed the options. I thought about the route they would have to take--it crossed a major roadway with no crosswalk. I considered the time of day and weather (late afternoon and overcast). I considered the number of other children walking that route (very few). I considered the length of the route (nearly a mile and half). All in all, I did not feel comfortable with the risk involved in allowing a twelve year old little girl and her friend to walk to her friend's house that day. It just wasn't safe.
If she only knew how much I love her--that sometimes I still watch her sleep, just like I did the night she was born. If she only knew that every parenting decision I make is with her best interest in mind. If she only knew the sacrifices I've made her entire life, the sleepless nights, the worry, the prayers. If she only knew the hidden dangers lurking behind every street corner. If she only knew about pedophiles and drunk drivers--then maybe she could understand why I said no. But she doesn't have that capacity yet. She's not a mom yet, and she's not an adult yet. All she knows is that her mom isn't letting her do something she really wants to do.
This scenario made me think about how many times we slam the door in God's face and act like a 12-year-old. Just like my daughter, we don't have the capacity to see the whole picture when God tells us no. We don't know everything that happens behind the scenes. We don't know the hidden dangers.
But we are more than willing to accuse God of not loving us--hurting us, even. We pout and sulk when God says we can't walk to our friend's house. When we don't understand, we cry out asking, "Why!?" God doesn't tell us once in the Bible that He will explain Himself to us. He does tell us more than 180 times (depending on the version) to trust in Him. He tells us that His plans for us are for our good and to prosper us. When we don't trust in Him that He loves us and that He has our best interest at heart, does He, too, sit on the couch with His head in His hands and let a tear fall?
She wanted to walk home from school with her best friend to her house. She's always either ridden the bus or been picked up, and I said no. We had a fervent text battle earlier that afternoon when I told her no, and now that we were home, she wanted to punish me for telling her no.
It hadn't been a flippant answer; I had weighed the options. I thought about the route they would have to take--it crossed a major roadway with no crosswalk. I considered the time of day and weather (late afternoon and overcast). I considered the number of other children walking that route (very few). I considered the length of the route (nearly a mile and half). All in all, I did not feel comfortable with the risk involved in allowing a twelve year old little girl and her friend to walk to her friend's house that day. It just wasn't safe.
If she only knew how much I love her--that sometimes I still watch her sleep, just like I did the night she was born. If she only knew that every parenting decision I make is with her best interest in mind. If she only knew the sacrifices I've made her entire life, the sleepless nights, the worry, the prayers. If she only knew the hidden dangers lurking behind every street corner. If she only knew about pedophiles and drunk drivers--then maybe she could understand why I said no. But she doesn't have that capacity yet. She's not a mom yet, and she's not an adult yet. All she knows is that her mom isn't letting her do something she really wants to do.
This scenario made me think about how many times we slam the door in God's face and act like a 12-year-old. Just like my daughter, we don't have the capacity to see the whole picture when God tells us no. We don't know everything that happens behind the scenes. We don't know the hidden dangers.
But we are more than willing to accuse God of not loving us--hurting us, even. We pout and sulk when God says we can't walk to our friend's house. When we don't understand, we cry out asking, "Why!?" God doesn't tell us once in the Bible that He will explain Himself to us. He does tell us more than 180 times (depending on the version) to trust in Him. He tells us that His plans for us are for our good and to prosper us. When we don't trust in Him that He loves us and that He has our best interest at heart, does He, too, sit on the couch with His head in His hands and let a tear fall?
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