New school. “Big” school. Who am I kidding? Evyn is excited. I’m the one who’s scared. Afraid she’ll grow up too soon, lose her six-year-old-ness. Afraid someone will tell her she dresses like a dork…or worse, that she’ll believe it. That she’ll like a boy who won’t like her back. That she’ll feel lost in a sea of children.
Afraid she won’t tell me about any of it.
I’m afraid I’ll embarrass her because…well, frankly, I can be embarrassing. I show up to the wrong rooms, too late, and with a cup of spilled coffee on my shirt. I used to be organized and “with it.” But I’m just not anymore. What if I fail her?
By all accounts her new school is really great. And the teacher was warm and welcoming. In my head I know she’ll be fine. She’ll be fine, even without me. And in the quiet of my spirit I think that may be a fear, too.
There. I spilled it all out. Those are my fears. And now I give them to God.
“May my children always be aware of how much they mean to You, how precious they are in Your sight, how tenderly You carry them in Your thoughts, and that their names are written on the palms of Your gentle hands. Remind them daily, Lord, of Your overwhelming love.” *
“Thank You, Lord,
that You are my children’s Provider;
You are their Keeper;
You are their Shepherd;
You are their Healer;
You are their Director.
I place them in Your hands. I commit them to Your care.