I am pretty sure that parenthood is a constant practice in the art of failure. You see, I know that this parenting gig is going to be full of ups and downs, but as I clean up an “accident” off of the kitchen floor for the 1,232 time during our never-ending potty training saga I feel a twinge of guilt. What am I doing wrong? Why can’t I get her to understand that the she needs to go in the potty instead of all over the floor in front our dinner guests from Church. What will they think? Maybe I should consult the all-knowing Mr. Google….
So here I am tonight. I am acutely aware of the fact that I can not and will not always be able to do the right thing for her (despite my best intentions), but ultimately it is Christ who holds her future. I can not make her into a good little girl, productive citizen, or successful adult, no more than I can grant her eternal life. Tonight I rest in the fact that He is all that she or I will ever need, and He certainly does not have a fear of failure.