A Prayer

This is a hard post to write because it's being vulnerable and transparent. And because it's late and I'm tired. I'm typing this in a dark room with my little boy asleep in my bed. A few times over the past months Maxwell has told me that he's afraid in his crib. The fact that my baby has lost part of his innocence to fear breaks my heart. He's only two! I'm still supposed  to be able to protect him.

He's woken up hysterical a couple times, but other than that it's a timid fear that we can usually talk through. Each time I'm immediately convicted because the first thing I say to him is 'Let's pray.' And then I do, then he doesn't understand. And I feel like I'm failing. When we talk about God Ella instantly says, 'God made the whole world!,' because that's what she's heard me tell her. They've heard the nativity story. But they don't know Jesus. Well, actually, I bet they do, but I haven't modeled that for them like I wish I had.

Without making this my testimony, I'll share that I was raised in a Christian home. Always. I've known the Lord as long as I can remember. Of course my faith has been challenged and I've known God on different levels through different seasons (see, I know the lingo), but I truly, I have always known that God's been with me. Of course the choice to follow, and not to follow, has always been mine. But the foundation of my faith lies in roots my parents planted in my heart. Yet I have not been part of a church family since...college...ish..really about 10 years.

So when I say that I'm convicted, it's because I haven't been intentional about naming God's goodness in our lives.  Honestly, in my everyday life, I don't speak this out loud in my home. I breathe it over my babies when I hold them in my arms. I whisper prayers as I watch them play together. I blog about God's faithfulness when it overwhelms me. But it's not enough. Because if it was enough, Maxwell would understand what I means when I tell him let's pray. So, there it is. There's my heart. My short comings.

Jesus, teach me to share you with my children in a way that they'll understand. Show me how to model your love in our home, in spite of my flaws and contradictions. Remind me that they are watching me, always; looking at my example. As I stumble to teach my kids, teach me again. Teach me to pray. Help me to know you. And in the name of Jesus I cast fear from Maxwell's mind. Comfort him and cover him with your peace. Assure him completely that his room, his bed, is a safe place. Fill his dreams with goodness and joy. Let him wake up rested and sure. 


Amen.