“I’ll never be a control freak,” I declared to a friend while I slurped up my barely caffeinated, overly sweetened café’ mocha, “I’m not a rules girl.”
Maybe it was the sugar talking. I was, in fact, a rules girl. Like the writer of the song Viva La Vida, I thought I ruled the world. Not “world” in the literal sense. It was the world of my children. In between dispensing Band-Aids and changing diapers I made numerous decrees.
1. Don’t jump on the bed.
2. Eat with your mouth closed.
3. Do your homework.
4. Look both ways when you cross the street.
5. Call home as soon as you get to where you are going.
My kids listened most of the time. Still, a few bed frames broke. Honor roll never became synonymous with our family name. But, everyone survived the crosswalk. And, advent of cell phones took care of the “call home” decree.
Then, my kids grew up and away from my domain. No more could I keep them safe or even make them happy.
It was up to God. His world. His rules.
I hoped for something along the lines “I will never let your kids get sick. Never let them suffer a broken heart. Never allow them to lose the ones they love.”
What a disappointment.
He operated on the wild side, unpredictable and unfathomable.
There was one promise, unchanging and unconditional.
“I will never leave you, I will never forsake you.”