They're Not Mine

When I was little, I used to travel with my mom to a women's Bible study called BSF (Bible Study Fellowship, I think.) I don't remember exactly where it was, but I do remember the fun things my friend Rachel, Dan and I used to do while our moms studied the word; things like tracing our bodies on big, white butcher paper and making fun kids crafts. I don't remember much about what we learned or even (beyond the butcher paper) what we did. But I know that the Lord was present, that we were learning and that we- at a very early age- were a part of a community of believers.

If I don't remember what we, the kids, did, I certainly have no clue what our moms did. But before I left for India in the summer of 2004, my mom shared with me one of the things she was told one of the first times she attended BSF.

Her leader challenged the class- mostly young moms- to pray that the Lord would remind them that their children were not theirs. Are you kidding me? my mom thought. This is my baby, my little girl. MINE.

And yet, even with those feelings deep in her heart, I think my mom began to pray that she would believe in the Lord's goodness and faithfulness. That she would remember that- above all else- I was the Lord's, not hers. That she would do me harm if she kept me from doing all that the Lord would call me to in order to protect me or, worse yet, keep me for herself.

And so, in 2004, probably with deep worry (that she bravely did not show me) my mom and dad let me go off to India for six months pretty much by myself. It is because she knew that this was what the Lord was calling me to that she was able to let go. It was probably this same spirit that led my parents, again, to let me go off to DC without a job, without too many friends and without a place to live. It is again, this conviction, that strengthens them when I tell them about the shooting that happened around the corner from my workplace, or M and my deep desire to live a messy, urban life in a "dangerous city."

The greatest gift my parents ever gave me was to trust in the faithfulness of the Lord and His good plans for my life. They could have orchestrated it (or continued to pay for it :) They could have demanded alarm systems, "safe places" and living down the street from them in their safe suburban neighborhood. They could have held on tightly, even as the Lord said "No, she is mine."

I hope one day, when M and I have children, that I can draw upon the example of my mother as I, too, learn that even as I birth and bring up these children, they are not mine. That the greatest gift I can give them isn't to protect them or hold too tightly to them, but, rather, with assuredness to say "they are Yours."

Happy Mother's Day.