They warned me. I have no one to blame but myself for this.

They may not have been able to warn me about the time my 3-year-old pitched a fit so enormous it woke the entire childcare center at nap time. As if suddenly possessed with a burning passion for furry monsters, she screamed and kicked all the way down the endless hallway over my old Elmo doll.  It was mine from my high school days and she never paid any attention to it. Until I started a new teaching job and tried to leave it for other children to play with. They don’t warn you when you’re snuggled in a hospital bed with your sweet cooing baby how they will one day be the cause of your life’s most embarrassing moments.

And they never mentioned the amount of patience it would take to help my 1st grader with her homework as she struggled with undiagnosed ADD.  The agony and frustration we both felt while my six-year-old would spend hours at our kitchen table just trying to do one ‘simple’ worksheet. She’d have to turn the neighbor kids away when they came to the door to play because she was still doing her homework. How could someone so smart struggle so much with school work? No one warns you of the feelings of inadequacy and concern when you can’t teach your own child but you can command a room full of three-year olds. “She’s so smart,” they’d say. “She’s got a bright future!” They don’t tell you about the times when the house falls silent and all those doubts begin to creep into your mind. Any confident strides you may have made that very afternoon with time managing the homework demons sink deep with sorrowful sighs into your pillow.

But this? Seems even strangers warned me about this:

“They grow up so fast.”

But when you’re in the trenches it’s hard to see the horizon.

“Don’t blink. Before you know it they’ll be grown and gone.”

It’s hard to hear that over your kicking, screaming, Elmo-obsessed three-year-old.

“Cherish the time you have with them now. Soon they won’t want anything to do with you.”

Somehow cherishing doesn’t seem to fit in the same realm as crying over 1st grade math.

And yet here I am wishing I had listened to them.

Both of my girls have milestones this Spring.  I am not sure how I missed this when I signed up to be their mom. Abby Faith finishes middle school, and Lucy will be spreading her wings and flying from the safety of her elementary school nest. This year they stacked the deck against me. I should have seen it coming.

They warned me after all.

I find myself weeping over the most common of scenarios. Like when my tiny baby girl forgets her English book after school. And this time she doesn’t need me to go with her back into the school to get it. I literally sobbed in the car while I waited for her to return. She looked so grown up! But I wiped my tears and gathered my composure before she returned. She wouldn’t understand. And if I warned her now about how this whole Mothering gig goes down, she wouldn’t listen. Just like her mom.

Or when my sweetest baby-faced child suddenly wants to trade in her Disney princess dress-up dress and go shopping for a dress to wear to her school semi-formal dance I lock myself in the bathroom for several minutes and just pray for time to stand still. Tomorrow she’ll ask to go shopping for a wedding dress. That will be an entire tear-stained blog post in itself!

Some days I feel like I just won’t make it. Some days I just feel like it’s not fair at all the way this life works. You pour every ounce of love from the very essence of yourself into someone just to give them away. And you pray that whomever you give them to will love them as much as you do or more.  I want to believe that’s true. There’s got to be some hope in that. But, I really don’t think there’s any love deeper, stronger or more poignant than that of a mother for her child. We loved them first after all. Before a name, a face and a birthday. We loved them first.

So excuse me if I get emotional over high school registration forms and 5th grade ceremonies. Because the time I have with them to do their hair and talk about boys will one day come to an end.

But my love for them goes on forever.

I was recently making a playlist to add to my collection. I was searching for certain songs to help get me back after a couple of days of wandering off. I struggle so much this way! I think I can manage things on my own and do things my own way. I do this way too much. It’s inevitable that I will stumble and begin a downward spiral into a very dangerous place. A place of doubt.

So I gathered all the songs I thought would calm my restless soul and help lead me back to still waters. I labeled the list “doubt” and set it up in my phone. It was then that I realized I had already made a playlist a few months ago with several other songs and also labeled it “doubt.” Hmm. I guess I am a creature of habit.

There are a few meanings of the word ‘doubt’, but the one I struggle with is listed as an inclination not to believe or accept. This pretty much describes my inward daily battle.  I doubt God’s provision and wisdom. I doubt the truth. There are times when I doubt that God is good enough or that He is here. But what I struggle with the most and also think is the most dangerous of all for me to doubt is to doubt that I am loved.

If I feel unloved I can’t love others. If I can’t love others, the kingdom cannot grow.

I had a great childhood. I grew up with two  great brothers and both of my great parents. I am married to a godly man who sharpens me and praises me daily. I’ve never been abused or neglected and I have no  reason to doubt my worth.

Ah, but I do! Because I am a sinner. A really good one. And Satan knows this. He knows what has made me stumble and he just loves to throw it back up in my face in an attempt to counter me worthless. He’s really very good at whispering lies to me that the things I have done make me unlovable. He knows I am a doubter and he uses it to fight the battle for my soul. He would love nothing more if I believed his lies that I am worthless, ugly, useless, a fraud. Unlovable. He would love it if he could cripple me that way and leave me wallowing in my own pit of self-destruction. He knows that if he’s crafty enough, I’ll believe him. And I have so many times. But he doesn’t love me, so why believe him?

I wrote a few days ago from 1 John 4:16 that God is love. He’s the very definition of it. Which to me means that he can’t not love. I’ve been trying to remember this truth over the last several days, but again, I doubt. So it was during a quiet moment with me and my savior as I listened to Hawk Nelson’s newest release, “Drops in the Ocean” that He gave me a beautiful vision to help me remember how much he loves me. I’m pretty sure He won’t mind if I share it with you.

The vast ocean is spread beneath our feet. My sin has been cast into the depths never to be retrieved. My Savior holds me close and leads me in a dance across the surface of the water. Because He’s capable of doing that. If I just allow him to lead me in the dance, we’ll move in harmony together. I’ll never have to doubt again. And in His arms is where I feel the most loved.

If you wanna know how far my love can go

Just how deep. Just how wide.

If you wanna see how much you mean to me

Look at my hands. Look at my side.

If you could count the times I say you are forgiven

It’s more than the drops in the ocean.

Hawk Nelson

Hot topics. I usually try to avoid them because I don’t gravitate towards controversy. Usually. Unless it directly affects my life I have other things to worry about.

I respect those who can debate. I respect those people who have the drive to stand up for what they believe in, can articulate what they have to say, and wisely express themselves. Politics aside, everyone has an opinion. And everyone is entitled to it. I welcome an educated discussion because I know what my feelings are, what my beliefs are based on, and it will have to be anything resembling a rapture to change them.

But this is where things get messy. Because I hate coffee. I don’t like the smell of it. The taste of it is nasty. And it’s just really gross when my husband leaves the grounds in the sink. Yuck! I have a hard time understanding why there is a whole culture devoted to coffee.

Did I just lose you, coffee lover? Are you about to share this post with all of your friends on social media, swear me off as incredible, and vow never to associate with me because I don’t love the same thing you love? Surely you aren’t outraged by my lack of coffee affections simply because you love it so?

But don’t we do that all the time? Our world has become so ridiculously dogmatic that I think we are letting the second greatest commandment slip through our fingers and the end result will be tragic.

“Love your neighbor as yourself.” Matthew 12:31

Sometimes I wonder what Jesus would say if He could comment on Facebook. If someone posts something against Him would He “unfriend” them? Would He say, “Well, I’m never listening to them again! They don’t agree with me!”

No! Jesus did not come into this world to condemn it. We do a really great job of that ourselves. He came into this world to save it. And that is not something we as humans can do.

My opinion of your habits, lifestyle, comments, friends, job, parenting skills, where you live, whether or not you go to church, your beliefs, your political affiliation or anything else DOES NOT MATTER. Opinions are not love. I don’t love my neighbor based solely on agreeing with the same things.

I love my neighbor by being a helping hand. Even if they are gay. I love my neighbor by taking them a meal. Even if they are unwed and pregnant. I love my neighbor by watching their children for the afternoon. Even if they are living on welfare. I love my neighbor by buying them lunch. Even if they can’t speak English.

This is really hard to do. I know it is. I struggle with this every day. And I fail at it every day.

The truth is that not a one of us doesn’t need to change something about ourselves. Not a one of us can cast the first stone.

So can we please, for the love of God, stop with the attitude that if you are not on my bandwagon you don’t deserve a wagon of your own?