I was standing at the top of a snow-capped sand dune, my eyes fixed on those silly sisters singing Frozen songs as they skipped toward the icy water, when my thoughts were interrupted with those three little words.
They’re not yours.
The girls were lost in their own world, savoring that sacred space of sisterhood that’s framed in laughter and love, and for a moment, I was tempted to ignore the whisper and join their frolic.
But instead, I dropped to my knees right there on top of that white-frosted mount, and I let that trio of words rattle around my soul for a bit.
Because I’ve learned that when I lean into Heaven’s whispers, I lean into life.
Those girls aren’t yours.
The words weren’t ringing in my ears, they were taking root in my heart, and to be honest, at first, they made my stomach flop a bit.
Because no matter how much I talk about raising kids for God’s glory, it’s really easy to live like they’ve been created for mine.
And no matter how often I write about placing my children into God’s hands, I’m still tempted to wrap my arms around them and pretend that they belong to me.
But for years, I’ve been learning a simple truth, and sometimes I just need to take a moment to let it seep quietly into my soul. Again—-
It’s an uncomfortable thought, actually.
It shatters my myth of control and reminds me that my days are numbered.
And so are my children’s.
These five precious kids with whom I’ve been entrusted?
They are gifts of love on loan.
And someday, the generous Giver will ask for their return.
Because they’ve been His all along.
They’re not yours.
The girls are spinning across that canvas of white like ballerinas on a stage, and I feel a fresh sense of wonder at the sight of them.
Wonder that God would entrust me with such treasures.
Wonder that He would invite me to share in His deepest joy.
I laugh as I watch their happy steps, my heart swelling with thanks.
And that’s when I realize it– the way this uncomfortable little truth can breed gratitude instead of fear.
When we admit that our kids aren’t really ours after all, we see our gifts in a whole new light…
Those giddy giggles slipping under the bedroom door late at night become the sound of laughter on lease.
The snow boots piled high in the entryway become reminders of feet on lend.
Motherhood is a daily investment in borrowed treasure.
And when we remember that, we are set free to hold confidently to the Giver rather than to cling anxiously to His gifts.
The girls’ brightly colored boots are leaving imprints in the snow, and I know it’s time to join those prancing feet.
“Mom! Are you coming?” Hannah hollers as she waves her hands wildly in the air to get my attention.
I stand up and brush damp white flakes off of my knees; then I return her wave and head down the dune to join my daughters on the frozen water.
And as I race to catch up with those gifts I cannot keep; my heart brims with a joy I cannot lose.
Happy Friday, friends.
Do you have a moment to chat? I’d love to know how to pray for you this weekend.
And if you have a minute to sneak a peek at your kids through the lens of gratitude, tell me… What do you love best about your “borrowed treasure” these days?