The moment I became a mother my capacity to worry multiplied.  When my babies were little I would sneak into their rooms at night and lay my hand on their backs to feel the rise and fall of their chests.  It was always comfort for me to breathe slowly along with them.

You might expect that by the time the third came around I’d have settled into an experienced calm, but my anxiety just seemed to amplify .  Each night, as I carried my drowsy baby to his room, my mind would create terrible scenarios of SIDS.  I would pray over him as he dozed off to sleep knowing that later that evening I’d check on his breathing.  Often multiple times.

Over the years I’ve worried about all sorts things for each of my kids.  Milestones, friends, futures and always about their teeth.  I have this weird thing with teeth.  Probably because my third child had teeth trauma at age one.  I think I may still have PTSD.

Worry seemed to be my default setting.

It was almost as if there was a trophy that I wanted…”Parent with the Most Worry”

I worried and protected and interfered, all in the name of protecting my kids.

But as my children grew, I grew as a mother and also as a follower of Jesus.  And I learned that the words “do not be afraid” turn up a lot in the Bible.  I started to dig into what that meant.  Mary saw an angel and the angel told her not to be afraid. The angel was about to disrupt Mary’s perfectly ordered life…and he instructed her not to be afraid.  And she listened.

I also learned about the lives of the men who were closest to Jesus when he was here on earth.  Turns out they didn’t exactly experience happily-ever-after here on earth. So if Jesus tells us not to worry BUT ALSO combines that with his followers leading difficult lives, doesn’t that mean I need to trust him, even when things don’t feel okay?

These days I feel this never ending challenge to trust him. A challenge to trust God with my kids and my future.  To choose trust over worry, even if it means that I won’t get my imagined happy ending.

It’s hard to write that because there is an underlying message that dominates the news and our social media feeds…we all need to be worried. We should be worried about our country, our schools and DEFINITELY worried for the future of our children.  The message is underscored with the idea that we all deserve the happily-ever-after that we imagine.

Do I want my children to be safe-absolutely!  Can I guarantee that nothing bad will ever happen to them?  No.  Do I want them to get the happily-ever-after that I imagine?  Sort of?

Sort of, because in the midst of some pretty hard “nos” in my life I’ve grown far more than I ever did in the happily-ever-after. Thus far, God’s plan for my life appears to be far riskier than I imagined.  There are some dark parts along the way that I wish had happy endings but don’t.  Abuse, a broken heart, people dying…  But my relationship with God is far deeper and more real than I thought was possible.

So the question is, which will I choose for my kids?  Will I chose the happily-ever-after with no dark areas, or do I trust that God will do his thing?

And the thought that I even have a choice in the matter is absurd. My choice is really, “What do I want to model for my kids?”

If I claim that God is good and loving and always present but I live my life pulling my hair out in constant worry, what are my kids to believe?

Will they grow up to believe that God is good and trustworthy?  Or will they fear unwanted outcomes?

I remember the day my middle was diagnosed with celiac disease at age nine. The morning of the results appointment I’d taken him to Starbucks.  I bought him a piece of lemon pound cake…just in case.

We’d be dreading the results for weeks.  I’d worried about what life would look like; the things that we’d have to give up, the changes we would need to make. As we sat and waited for the doctor, I went over all of the things he’d said to us after the biopsy.

He’d told us that G’s intestines didn’t look unhealthy.  The doctor felt good about what he’d seen.  He was leaning towards a food allergy and not celiac disease.

I had friends praying for his result to be clear.  I truly believed God would give us a happy ending.

The moment the Dr. walked in the room, I knew the diagnosis.  The way his face conveyed pity was a dead giveaway.

I don’t remember the words he used but I can remember the feeling of sitting in the room and trying not to cry.  I didn’t want my son to know how much this devastated me.  God has said “no” and I didn’t know what to do with it.

We finished the appointment and I drove G the 30 minutes back to school.  Still too young to sit in the front seat of the car, he sat by himself in the back while I drove in silence. Each of us was too afraid to talk.

The second I dropped him off I texted a friend.  It was one word that conveyed the diagnosis and my devastation.   It conveyed everything.  The thing that I’d been fearing for weeks had just come true.

And then I cried.  I cried for him.  He admitted that he hated being different and this was  one way that he would stand out. I cried for all the things he would have to give up to stay healthy.

I cried for me; for the new recipes I’d have to learn, the changes we’d have to make.  I cried because this was unexpected and hard and not what I’d envisioned.  I cried for the loss of my happily-ever-after.

But here’s the thing, it turns out that we’re actually okay.

For starters I’ve learned new recipes and found staples for him to eat.  I’ve also learned what it’s like to have a child who can’t always eat what’s being served.  It’s made me more empathetic to other parents and kids with food allergies.

But more importantly, in his diagnosis I learned that God can say no; bad things CAN happen and God is still good.  And I discovered that always being worried robbed me of some amazing moments in my life.

For so many years I was missing the good things because I spent so much time focusing on the POSSIBILITY of bad things.  I missed enjoying trips to the pond near our house because I was worried someone would fall and break an arm.  I missed cheering for “feats of bravery” because I was so concerned that someone would fall and knock out a tooth.  (I’m telling you, my fear of teeth trauma IS.A.THING)

Living in the possibility of “what ifs”  I was missing all of the amazing things that were happening right in front of me.  And it turns out my worry didn’t actually affect the outcome after all.

And that kid who has celiac disease?  He’s AMAZING.  A few weeks ago as I guided my car away from his basketball practice, he shared about practice that night.  There had been a few new kids that had joined the team.  He recalled what it felt like to be new, so he made sure to give one of the boys a high five.

I suddenly felt a wave of gratitude.  I hadn’t missed this one.  I’d remained present in the moment.  I hadn’t worried about what the news kids on the team might mean for him.  I was simply present and listening to what was actually happening before me.

I want my kids to see a mom who is present and who trusts in a God who is good and loving and kind.  Even when He says no.

That night instead of a future wrought with negative experiences, I saw a strong man with a good heart who cared about those around him.

I cannot guarantee that he won’t ever get sick.  And I can’t guarantee that he’ll never suffer heartbreak or failure.  In fact, I CAN guarantee that he WILL suffer both of those things.  He’ll survive and both will make him a stronger human being.

The fact that he does have celiac disease IS NOT a happy ending.  There are still days where the disease just sucks.  Days when the adults in his life forget or accidentally give him gluten and he throws up for three hours.  Or the times where he can’t have what the other kids are having because no one thought to have something gluten free.  He has days that he feels sorry for himself and that hurts my heart.

But he has a kind heart and he’s funny and smart. He’s healthy and normal and awesome.  And I wouldn’t change a single thing about him.

I cannot control what happens in his future.  But I know that he is going to be okay.  We’re going to be okay.  Even when bad things happen.

Why?  Because God IS good.  He is present.  He will carry us through it.  And he’s asking us not to live afraid.