Two of my kids came down with killer colds last weekend. They dripped, they coughed, they had sore throats and headaches.
From a mother’s perspective, the worst thing about a cold is the complaining. After a morning of enduring endless moaning, I finally said to one child, “Honey, I know you feel bad. But you tell me about it as if I could make it go away—and I can’t!”
The child was startled. “But I do want you to make it go away!”
I replied gently, “That’s not in my power.” We looked at each other in silence as the words sunk in.
It’s true: Moms aren’t God. We don’t know everything, can’t fix everything. Even when we are able to shield our kids from difficulty, often that’s not what God asks of us. Sometimes our job is simply to teach our children to carry their crosses graciously.
My child and I had a good talk, and the complaining toned down for a while. When it revived we prayed together, partly for healing, but mostly for patience and deep love and a willingness to unite our suffering to Christ’s. Slowly, very slowly, the day improved. And I daresay that taking a discomfort like a head cold and handing it over to God probably improved our faith lives as well.
