1 Thessalonians Chapter 4 Part 2

“. . . and to make it your ambition to lead a quiet life: You should mind your own business and work with your hands, just as we told you, so that your daily life may win the respect of outsiders and so that you will not be dependent on anybody.” (1 Thess 4:11-12 NIV)

A Prayer for Our Daughter

Grant my little one a love of Your ways and a love for Your people that increases and multiplies throughout her years. May she desire a peaceful, quiet life that is free from idleness and gossip. Dear Lord, even at this tender age, may her life be characterized by good, hard, honest work that exemplifies Your integrity and joy. May she glory in the knowledge of Your triumphant return and find this Truth an encouragement to her spirit in the days of difficulty and trial. ...

Parenting as a vision impaired mom has its challenges. Amidst the usual daily squirmishes of autonomy versus obedience, control versus submission, boo-boos, intentional instruction, correction, discipline, and play juggled among the household chores and wifely duties, I sometimes struggle with keeping up with the ‘sighted’ Jones. The knowledge that my cleaning capabilities will never be a match to the housewife with vision and that there are many chores which Iamb unable to fully complete or perform without assistance, can sometimes leave me frustrated or sad. I struggle with the knowledge that I cannot transport my little girl or that I can rarely glimpse her beautiful face and smile. Perhaps what I struggle most with as a vision impaired mom is how my lack of sight impacts and is perceived by sweet, little girl. It pains me when Little one struggles with her understanding, her preschooler brain frustrated by its inability to compute why Mommy can’t see what she can see. 
     
One cozy evening, readying Sweet girl for bed, she was unusually chatty. As I massaged her arms and hands, she chattered on excitedly about a fun TV episode she saw earlier. Sweet one is currently in a stage where she asks questions even though she is fully aware of the answer. To her, it is a game, waiting to see if the answer given matches the information she has stored in her little brain. With the episode fresh on her mind, Sweet girl played this question and answer game with me.

​“Why did he lose his ear muffs?” she asked, excited because she knew the answer. Unfortunately, for Sweet one, Mommy did not know the answer because Mommy does not possess the eyesight to watch television. If a show does not give verbal cues or running commentary, I can’t fill in the blanks and am unable to follow the storyline. 

“Oh, Sweet pea,” I confessed, “I don’t know what happened to his ear muffs.”

Thinking we were still playing the game, Sweet one laughed and asked again. “Mommy, he was skating to help his friends when he lost his ear muffs,” she hinted. “Why did he lose his ear muffs?”

“Oh, Sweet pea,” I sighed, “I really don’t know.” I kissed the top of Sweet girl’s head, “Remember, Mommy can’t see to watch the television.”

“But Mommy,” she persisted, not understanding my meaning, “you know why he lost his ear muffs!”

Closing my eyes, I shook my head. “No, Sweet pea. Mommy really doesn’t know because I couldn’t see what happened to him.” I opened my eyes and gently trailed a finger down her forehead to her eyes. “Mommy’s eyes don’t work.” Silence hung in the air as Little girl attempted to process my words. 
   
Then, Sweet girl balled up her little hands into fists and shook them both up and down. “I’m frustrated!” she declared stomping her feet, “Mommy, I’m frustrated!”

A wave of sadness crashed over me. Oh, Sweet pea,” I hugged my little girl close, “I’m frustrated too.” I smiled sadly. “I wish I could see like you.” Kissing the top of Sweet girl’s head again, I touched my nose to her little one. “I completely understand how you would be frustrated. Trust me, ​if Mommy could see, she would. But that’s not the way God made me.” I slid off the bed onto the floor and perched on my knees to be eye level with Sweet girl. 

“Why not?” she asked with a touch of defiance, “why did God not make you this way?”

With a quick prayer for wisdom and the right words, I patted the mattress in front of me for Sweet girl to sit down. Taking a deep breath, I plunged in.

“God makes us all different, He gives us.” different abilities and gifts. That means you might be good at something that a classmate may not be. But that same classmate might be better at something else that you are not.”

Sweet girl’s face puckered in thought, then brightened. “Like puzzles?” she inquired, “I’m good at puzzles and Kira is not. But Kira is good at the monkey bars and I don’t do so well on them.”

I hugged Little girl, “Yes, Sweet pea! That’s exactly right. Good example!”

Sweet one beamed proudly under my praise.

“Well,” I continued,” God also makes every Mommy different. He’s given each Mommy different gifts and abilities, different strengths and weaknesses.”

Little girl looked intently at me as I paused, “Like Mommy is good at singing, but Miss Karen is not good at singing. But Miss Karen can see, and Mommy can’t.”

Sweet one smiled and patted my arm, “You can sing, Mommy, you can sing!”

I returned her smile and planted a kiss on her brow. “And do you think Carol’s Mommy can play the violin like I can?”

Sweet one shook her head and giggled, “No.”

I wiggled my eyebrows and leaned back, “But Carol’s Mommy can see, and I can’t. And Sweet pea,” I leaned in with a silly grin, “do you think every Mommy knows how to give a massage to their little girl?”

​Sweet one smiled wide and big, her eyes now bright, “Nooo-ooo-oo!” she squealed with a bounce as she sat on her bed. 

I smoothed Sweet one’s pillow case and gave it a soft, final pat. Little girl flopped back on the bed, her head sinking into the welcoming depths of the pillow. As I began tucking the covers in around Sweet one, another illustration popped into my mind.

“You know that song that you love to sing, blessed be the Name of the Lord?” I sat down on the edge of Sweet one’s bed. Little girl nodded her head and turned to look at me. “Well, remember how it the song says, ‘You give and take away, You give and take away’?” I sang the words for Sweet girl. “Well, even though God has taken away my sight, He has given me many other blessings.” I smiled wide and tapped my index finger on my little girl’s nose, “Like you, Sweet pea. God has given me you.” I ruffled Sweet one’s hair. “God has also blessed Mommy with the gift of prayer, peace, and a love for Him and for my family.” Sweet girl’s eyelids drooped, and she snuggled under the covers.
     
A Minnie Mouse lamp stood on Sweet one’s nightstand. It stood showering the head of her bed with light and illuminated the pretty bows which decorated the lamp. Reaching over, I clicked off the light and planted one last kiss on my little girl, this time on her cheek. “God has given you and blessed you with one more special thing,” I whispered in Sweet girl’s ear, “A Mommy who loves you very much.”
   
God makes each one of us different and unique. He has blessed us with different strengths and weaknesses, different gifts, talents, and abilities. He has blessed us with different personalities, laughs, ideas, smiles, and senses of humor. Yet, even with all the differences, we share many similarities. Our emotions, values, hopes, and beliefs. We share in love, similar interests, common goals, and much, much more. But it is these very differences and similarities that make us special, unique, and set apart. As individuals. Each person’s unique blend of similarities and differences makes them exactly the person of whom they are meant to be. Beautiful, special, one of a kind, wonderful, lovable, etc., child of the Living God. Formed, molded, shaped, and created to be non-other than you. 

Through God’s grace and mercy, I can view my vision loss as a special, unique characteristic of who God has made me to be. I confess, that most of the time, I do not miss my loss of sight. In fact, losing my vision has opened a world of insight, depth, blessing, and intimacy with the Lord that I would never have experienced otherwise. For I can attest that in the very act of taking away, God pours out in abundance His love, His blessing, and His favor in new and fulfilling ways. 
     
If you wonder whether I am a complete Pollyanna, I answer with a resounding, I am not. Like many of you, I still have moments of grief and loss, wishing for my eyesight to be restored. In moments when Sweet girl wishes so badly for me to see, to share in the entirety of the world with which she interacts, it is then, that I most desire for miraculous healing. Sometimes when I watch the lack of my sight cause frustration and confusion in my Sweet pea or I miss those precious, priceless moments to share with my little girl, I cannot help but cry out to the Lord in pain and sadness. 
     
​But, just as everybody else, whether sighted or not, hearing or deaf, able tongued or mute, walking or wheel chair bound, I am learning to trust God with my impairment in this noble job of parenting. Trusting that He will use my inabilities to mold and make my child into a person of character, kindness, love, compassion, and versatility. That He will turn my weaknesses into my child’s strengths by using the unique way God has created me to hone Sweet girl as iron sharpens iron and as precious gems emerge from rough stones. Trusting that my loss of sight was not a mistake and that it will be used for His great plan in both my life and in my daughters. That God is good, and that God is faithful.

​Join me today in trusting God with your weaknesses, inabilities, and imperfections. Stand with me and pray alongside me to witness how God will hone your imperfections into that of beauty, make the disabled into the abled, and use the weak to lead the strong. 

A Parent's Prayer

Turn my weaknesses’ and flaws into brilliant diamonds in my life. Strengthen and encourage me when I feel down, frustrated, and unable. Breathe new life and hope into me this day. Help me to trust in Your refining work to change, make, mold, and use me in the lives of my children, family, and loved ones.