Happy Mother's Day!

“Mom, I want to live with my dad.  He needs me,” she pled.

“Lauren, we have been fighting about this for a year.  I haven’t changed my mind.  Can we just agree to disagree?”

“You have Ralph and Megan, I’m all he has.  It’s not his fault we moved away,” she countered.

“It wasn’t my fault either.  We had to go where Ralph’s job took us. No one could have predicted he would be promoted and transferred twice in one year.  I’m sorry, but there is nothing I can do about.”

“Yes, there is, Mom.  You can let me live with him.”

“I don’t think it’s the best thing for you. He doesn’t have any idea what it takes to be a full-time parent. “

“Well, don’t you think it’s about time you gave him a chance?  He’s going to buy me a car.  I’ll drive down to see you on holidays and vacations.”

“You are only 16 years-old. There is no way I will allow you to drive from Oklahoma City to Lafayette, Louisiana, by yourself.  It’s not safe. I can’t believe your father would have the poor judgment to allow it either.”

“I’ll bring a friend with me.”

       The argument ended in the usual frustration and tears. How could I let her go? There were so many things I needed to teach her. How could I parent by phone?

 I waited seven years to have her. She was only 18-months old when I left her father. I had always been her primary caregiver. Angry and bitter, we never co-parented in a mature fashion. We utilized guerilla warfare with words as our weapon and Lauren the point of delivery. Oh, the damage we inflicted on her in an attempt to make ourselves look better.  (This is one of those poor choices I will always regret.)

But I let her go. I grieved. I cried. My baby was gone. I was angry with her, her father, and God. Every alter call found me sobbing on my knees. I prayed for understanding. I prayed for her protection.  I prayed for her return. I felt no peace, just pain. Once again at the altar, I felt a soft touch on my shoulder. My friend, Gay, knelt beside me and quietly said,

“God wants me to remind you of the story of Moses’ mother. The king of Egypt commanded all Hebrew boys be killed at birth. Moses’ mother hid him for three months.  When she could no longer hide him, she coated a little basket-boat with tar and pitch. She placed him in the basket and set him afloat in the Nile. While bathing with her maids, the Egyptian princess found him. She took him home to raise as her own son.*Just as Moses’ mother trusted God to care for her son, He wants you to trust Him.  Like the princess, He will send someone from the enemy camp to care for your child."

I knew the story of Moses and how he led his people out of slavery. I never gave any thought to his mother’s astounding act of faith. She placed Moses in the water with the crocodiles, turtles, lizards, fifteen varieties of venomous snakes, and the hard-to-miss hippos! I would not leave a three-month-old baby floating in a bathtub. Peace flooded my heart. I could do this. I did not like it, but I could do this. She was in Oklahoma, not the Nile River. I would suck it up and claim His promise.

I'd like to say a king rescued her and raised her as a princess.  That did not happen. She had some hard times, but God always put someone in her life to pick her up and put her back on the right path. She came home eighteen months later to finish high school. The time apart changed our relationship forever. It convinced her of my unconditional love. I loved her enough to let her go.

Sixteen years later, I am still claiming His promise to care for my children. Lauren is in Oklahoma where she has been in the path of more than one tornado, but no hippos or crocodiles. I also have a child in Budapest, Hungary and one in Tampa, Florida.  I claim His promises for them too.  Momma has no control, but He does.  Happy Mother’s Day!

*Exodus 1 and 2.