Can God Use the Struggles I'm Facing in the Lives of My Kids?

 Seven years ago, after my second child was born, I found myself in unknown territory. Ezra was in the midst of his depression journey, which he’s shared about in Walking With a Limp. I was in the midst of daily panic attacks. My hormones were a bit rearranged from giving birth, and my nervous system was on edge from the struggle Ezra had been in for a couple of years.

 After therapy, finding systems that worked to support my body, and an international move, the panic attacks subsided. I had some sporadic ones, mostly when I was pregnant or postpartum with my next two babies, but they died down significantly.

The Struggle 

Fast-forward to three weeks ago. I had two of the worst panic attacks I’ve ever had. Without going into excessive detail, let me just say I was scared I was starting down a road I didn’t want to be on and I was all too familiar with.

 I immediately began the steps I knew from experience would help. I cut out caffeine, slowed down my schedule, upped my sauna sessions and workouts, talked to a therapist, and started hormone supplements. Thankfully, although I can still feel unnatural tightness in my chest this morning, I haven’t had one since, and I know I’m on the road to getting things balanced again.

 But the hardest part of it all hasn’t been the effect it has on me. Seven years ago, I had a two-year-old and a newborn who didn’t really register what was going on with Mommy.

Now, I have a nine-, seven-, almost five-, and almost three-year-old. They know when I’m on edge, they saw the beginning of one of the attacks, and they want to know what’s going on with Mom. This isn’t what I want them to remember about me.

But after I had that second one and had finished counting backward from 100 (which helps me get out of the spiral), I knew I needed to repair. So I gathered my kids together and we talked about what was going on. I explained that the attack didn’t mean I was angry with them or that they had done anything wrong. My body was stuck in fight-or-flight mode, and sometimes random things signaled danger to my brain.

I told them it was temporary, and that I knew different things to do that were going to help get my body balanced again. And then something happened that made me think about the whole episode in a new light.

Two of my kids asked me if they could pray for me.

The Redemption

In that moment I realized that I could never be a perfect mom, but we had been pointing the kids all along to the One who is perfect, and who can redeem any situation. And He wasn’t only working in my life through this situation. He was working in theirs.

Philippians 1:6 says,

I am sure of this, that he who started a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. 

I’m so thankful that Jesus is working in my life every day to make me more like Him, and that He won’t stop until I see Him in Heaven. But as a mom, I find myself even more grateful that He’s working His redemption story through my kids’ lives.

It’s easy for me to worry about this or that with the kids. To want to “fix” their rough edges and make them into model citizens. And of course, I do think parents have the responsibility to mold their kids and help them walk in the paths of Jesus.

But I’m so glad that the end result isn’t up to me. My job as a mom is to let Jesus work on my heart, to listen to His instruction on how to raise my kids, and to pray for them. Then there comes the point where I must come before Him with open hands and surrender the outcome of my children’s lives to Him. 

I still feel the tightness on some mornings. But I'm no longer only afraid of what my kids will remember of me. I'm trusting that they'll carry with them a mom who was never perfect, but who kept pointing them to the One who is.