While you’re reading this sentence, I want you to ball your hands into the tightest fist you can make. Come on, squeeze until your nails dig into your skin and your knuckles turn white.

Now…open your hands. Stretch them as wide as they will go. Ahhhhhh. Release.

Do you see the fingernail marks in your palms? Run your finger over the shallow indention that will soon fade.

Are there things in your life showing evidence of a struggle by the indention’s that your fingernails left behind?

For me to think that there was any other way to believe that I could hold on to what was mine without digging my fingernails in, was going to take a complete transformation of the mind.

This is exactly what is happening. It has been a slow, but steady process.

Have you ever seen a child hold a piece of candy that they were afraid was going to be taken from them? Especially chocolate. The tighter they squeeze, the more misshapen it becomes. At times even melting under the force and heat of their little hand.

What’s left?

A mess.

When I have tried to pry open the little fingers of my child when they are locked onto something they want, not only does the mess get all over their hand, but it gets on mine as well. The worst place being under the nails where it is so difficult to remove.

Why am I telling you this?

Well, I hope you can relate.

I have had to physically open my palms to the Father many times this week while in conversation with certain people who are making decisions in my daughter’s life.

I have prayed, “Lord, if necessary, bring out your spiritual crowbar and release my grip on this situation. Father the harder I hold on, the worse the outcome. The more I squeeze, the greater intensity of pain. Help me, please. I don’t know how to hold my child with an outstretched arm and open palm.”

God has been so patient with me.

I should know by now that He doesn’t use a crowbar. He doesn’t use force. For if He did, I would be resentful. These are the times when He is very still and beckons my heart to meet Him in the quiet places (which are few and far between in my house).

He whispers to my heart, “Don’t you know she was Mine to begin with? Don’t you know that she is Mine still?”

“Yes, Father. But…What if…”

“What if, you trusted Me the way you tell others to trust Me? What if, you truly believed that I want the very best for your life and your child’s life. And though that doesn’t always mean comfort and happiness, you can rest in the assurance that you are greatly loved and adored by your Father in Heaven. What if, when you were afraid, you sought Me instead of relief through external methods? What if, every time you think of one of your children, you give them back to Me, once more, leaving the pen in My hand to write the chapters of their story? What if, you commit My words to memory so that when doubt floods in, it is absorbed by My truth and replaced with My peace that passes all understanding?”

This is how the Father speaks to my heart. This is the way he gently opens my fists tightly clenched in fear until my palms face the Heavens with fingers stretched as wide as they will go.

Then and only then, can He pour out His goodness, mercy and love. And there is enough that when it spills through my fingers, those around me benefit.

Bella, my Bella, belongs to God. Chris and I have worked tirelessly to lay the foundation and instill truth in her heart and mind. Our responsibility now, is to reiterate what she already knows. It is to combat lies with truth. It is to encourage, nurture and provide a safe place for daunting questions.

When I close my eyes and pray for my girl, I see the 5 year old explorer/princess/rock star. I see overalls and pig tails…I see somersaults on the grass and make believe castles in the trees.

I see more potential, beauty and promise than she will ever see. Isn’t that what we do as mothers though? We dream BIG for our girls and attempt to stifle the urge to project ourselves onto them while intercepting those who would cause them to believe that they are anything less than a child of The King.

Here’s the deal, I have to let go.

I must open my fingers and release the fist. I do not want my beautiful girl to have nail marks of any kind on her spirit, especially mine.

So when fear consumes my mind with thoughts of losing the control that I never had to begin with, my heart will respond with Ephesians 3:20-21“God can do anything, you know—far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams! He does it not by pushing us around but by working within us, his Spirit deeply and gently within us.“

What is beneath your fingers tightly clenched into a fist? What or who are you holding on to so tightly that they can barely breathe? Let go. The longer you struggle, the messier it gets.

Let go. Or be dragged.