My little guy, three years old, has a peanut allergy. This can make life rather challenging, and in the least expected ways. Sure there's the challenge at the grocery store, reading every ingredient on every label. And then there are restaurant visits. But the most surprising problems arise from friends, relatives and acquaintances. Grandparents assuming that pack of Cheese on Wheat crackers is safe, even though the last ingredient listed is "peanuts." Or the party where someone serves a dessert mom would think is safe, like s'mores. How do you mess up s'mores? I mean, they're graham crackers, hershey's chocolate bar, and a marshmallow. But you get another mom wanting to try a gourmet version of an old reliable, and suddenly there's peanut butter in the chocolate.
I'm not complaining about this, actually, although it may sound like I am. I've come to accept the fact that my little guy may eventually come in contact with a peanut, despite my best efforts to protect him from what is harmful, even deadly in life. All I can do is try my best to educate others about his allergy, keep our home safe for him, keep an Epi-Pen with him at all times, and trust God to do the rest.
Trust. That's the biggest, most intimidating word in my vocabulary, especially when it comes to my children. My knee-jerk reaction is to tuck my little chicks under my wings and growl like a grizzly at anyone and everything that threatens to harm them. But I'm not God, and I can only shelter them so much. My reach is limited.
Not so for my Father. His grasp is limitless. His arms span the heavens. He spoke the entire universe into existence, set the earth in motion, breathed life into man. He holds my little family in the palm of His hand. And He is in control of every moment, every breath. I just have to let go, rest in his grasp, and trust. Why is that so difficult?