Fear and Faith

I think one thing that most parents have in common is fear. We are afraid about different things, but we are all afraid for our children. One parent may be paranoid about germs; another may worry about the bus system, while another may fear their child falling in with bad friends.  We all have areas of weakness, but I think I fear mostly feels the same.

Someone told me once that fear blinds you.  I have experienced it, and it’s true.  But knowing that you are blind doesn’t help you see.  It doesn’t solve the fear.

As a missionary parent, options of things to be fearful about seem to be doubled or tripled.  Should I be afraid of poisonous snakes, crazy taxi drivers, unsafe drinking water, and lack of healthy food choices?  Or should I worry about my child’s bilingualism, worried that they may feel caught between cultures, wondering where they will find role models, and how I am doing as a parent.  The options are limitless.

Yet there is one option that trumps all others. And that option is faith.  I can spend endless time fearing every bad thing that could happen. Or I can choose to trust God. I can choose to trust him in a world where bad things happen, where nothing seems to make sense, where the suffering I see around me tries to sink my faith once and for all.  My only option is to hold on to faith. And to hold on to God.

He is the constant. Somehow, in ways I can’t understand, he is holding my children.  He didn’t give me the guarantee of a problem free life.  That deal isn’t offered to anyone, least of all missionaries.  But he told me that he has our lives in his hands.

What other hands could we want to be in?

My sister Hannah told me once that we don’t own our kids, and if we think we do we are only fooling ourselves. She told me that we can only hold them in open hands and trust God. Every piece of advice she has told me has been right on, and this one was no different.

It seems like a paradox. I am supposed to care for and protect my children, and yet I can’t depend on myself to do it.  God is the one who holds them in his hands.  It’s as if I am a steward who should do their job faithfully, caring for what belongs to another. My children belong to God. Even as I must be accountable for the care I give them, I can also trust him to ultimately be the one who has even their hairs counted.

May God give us parents both strength for our task, and the strength to let them go into his trustworthy hands.