Hand Written Fridays pt. 3

The *actual* post for today, day 17, is another Hand Written Friday, a look into my prayer journal. The last two times I've done this I've shared a past prayer that has been answered, sometimes in different ways than I imagined, but answered. Today I want to share a different prayer with you. I'm not gonna lie to you, I'm reaching out of my comfort zone here, so please be gracious with what you are about to read. 


In my first Hand Written Friday I shared about the different prayer journals I have and their different purposes. I have a confession to make. They are woefully out of balance. The ones for Gabe and my husband are filled with all the kinds of prayers you'd expect. But Lula's....Lula's is way more about me than it is about her. I try to pray the same kinds of blessings for her that I do for Gabe, and I succeed a lot of the time, praying that she would become a woman of God, of strength and humility, of a gentle spirit, of boldness, that she would seek after the Lord with an insatiable hunger and that she would have joy. I do pray these things for her, but after those things are said, the prayer always, ALWAYS turns into a plea for myself. I pray desperately that I would know how to parent her, to be the mother she needs, a mother that guides her through life and leads her to these other things I want for her, that I would be a mother that leads her to the Lord. 

You may be like "uh yeah I pray that too" and I get why my admission may not seem earth shattering to you. My reality is that I am worried about my ability to be a mother to a daughter. I don't know how to be a mother to a daughter, and to be perfectly honest with you, from what I remember of my teen years I'm not sure I want to be! Or at least I wasn't. In fact when I was pregnant with Gabe I prayed every day for a boy. And after Gabe I told Aaron we would only have boys. But there is a glimmer of answered prayer here, a prayer I didn't even know how to pray, it was just a guttural cry in my heart. When I found out I was pregnant last year I knew in my heart it was a girl. From the moment the line turned pink I knew. And I panicked. It was a deep despairing panic that I would fail this precious girl, that I would not know what she needed or how to give it to her. I didn't have words for the fear coiled in my heart. But I cried out to God, knowing that with one miscarriage and one high risk pregnancy in my past I couldn't physically afford this kind of anxiety. From the moment I begged the Lord to do something I was at peace, and I had a perfect, healthy pregnancy, from start to finish. 

Although I still feel that peace, on this side of her being born there is still worry.  Now that this beautiful girl is here I still have this burning desire to do right by her, to be what she needs, and a concern that I will fail. But this worry is different than the fear. Now it's a healthy concern that lends itself to prayer, not a cloying panic and brings me to tears. And the prayer that I be the mother she needs is a fervent and passionate one. 
I have faith that God will answer but I know I have a long time to wait to fully see His answer. 

But oh man, do I plan to be persistent with this one.