My son stutters. Many people who know him have never heard it. His struggle began around age four, its intensity waxing and waning during different seasons and stages of his life. Around age seven, his stuttering was greatly impacted by a stressful event, and the pain I felt as I watched him struggle was heart-wrenching.

Each night I would stand by his top bunk and pray with him, but one night he could not get any words out to pray. His face winced and contorted as he tried to pray, and then they came- the tears. Both his and mine. I climbed up into the top bunk and held my son, begging God to heal his stutter. I blamed myself for allowing him to stay overnight with someone who left his little heart and mind in such distress.

I tried to smile and comfort him, reassuring him that this would pass. I prayed over him and waited until he fell asleep before I went to my room and sobbed into my pillow.

Watching our children suffer is deeply painful; I would argue that it is possibly the worst pain we ever feel. I have been injured emotionally, watched loved ones in pain, but seeing my children suffer cuts me open.

It begins at those early stages as our little ones come to us saying, "he hurt my feelings." Perhaps they audition for a play or try out for a team and their hearts are broken by rejection.

As teenagers, opportunities for the pain of rejection are plentiful and we only hope these moody, hormone enraged, confused adolescents will invite us into their pain so that we can comfort them and share all of the amazing wisdom we gained from our own heartbreak.

And there are some parents who have walked through the darkest valleys of suffering with children whose bodies have been ravaged by disease. Some, whose normal looks devastating to the rest of us as they face disabilities head on, are fighting along side their sons and daughters to conquer what most children do without thought or effort.

What we all have in common, whether our child is suffering with cancer or crying into their pillow over their first heartbreak, is that we want to fix it. We desperately want to stop the pain, to make it go away, to make it all better for our child.

Our children's pain becomes our own.

I am walking through the darkest valley of my life and the lives of my six children. To say it is emotionally overwhelming would be understating pain that has left my heart feeling completely wrecked.

It's certain that I have been blind to my children's pain on days when I was held captive by my own. Some days have found us weeping together, but every moment of every day spent in this valley has found me wishing I could make it all go away. I just want to make it all better for my children.

Each of my six children are hurting, but each one is processing their pain differently. This mama is learning the real meaning of the word, "helpless". I knew in my mind that control is an illusion, but now I am face to face with that reality.

It's as if I'm trapped in a room, checking every tiny opening, any possible crack in the wall, desperately searching for anything I could use to break out of this state of helplessness.

Here is what I hear from the Father. The Father who watched his Son suffer beyond any pain our children have experienced.

My good Father, who loves my children way more than I could ever hope to love them, who hurts with me for them, is asking me to sit down in the middle of that locked room and breathe deep. He's asking me to do something that goes against everything I think and feel as a mama bear.

God is asking me to let go of my children and let him hold them instead.

I cannot heal my children. I cannot heal my children. I cannot heal my children.

I can love them and I can cry with them, and believe me, I will pray with them and over them; but their healing is not in my hands. Making it all better is not within my power.

Choosing to try and distract them from the destruction around them, or putting band-aids on their pain like new toys or clothes, or keeping them busy will never be enough. Striving to be the perfect mom, thinking that my love will magically stitch up their wounds, will only exhaust me and masque my own wound.

In this darkness and confusion, as I swim through waves of grief, I have chosen to believe that God will use it all for our good and his Kingdom. All of it. None of it will be wasted. My children have lost so much, yet I choose to believe that God is truly working it all together for their good if they love him.

One of my children recently told me, "Mom, even on my happy days, it does not really feel like happiness. It's just NOT feeling sad. It isn't real joy. I can't remember feeling really happy."

Until you have experienced dark days, you don't really appreciate the light. Sunshine is no big deal unless you know what days upon days of rain feel like. Without feeling the sadness, we are not truly familiar with real joy.

Our story isn't over. Chapters are still being written, and I know there are happy ones yet to come. Trying to prevent pain in the lives of my children is impossible and it's also not wise. God is writing their stories and like every good story, pain is an important part.

How has God used our pain already? How does he want to use your children's pain?

I can tell you that we have seen God show up for us in big ways. He has sent friends to comfort us when we couldn't even find the strength to ask for help. He has been present in our pain. My children see that God cares about us.

I have watched some of my kids come to the end of themselves and reach out to God for help. After months of either self-medicating or stuffing the pain, some realized that only God could soothe their hurting hearts. Pain can draw us to the Father.

My children have been strengthened through their pain. We don't want to see them struggle, but struggles can make us strong. Doing everything for our children can cripple them. We are in a difficult situation, and they have been asked to step it up, help out more, make some sacrifices to make life work for our family. I see character developing. I see pain producing real growth in my kids.

One of my six told me, "Now I know how other people feel because I've had to go through something hard." Empathy and mercy for others creates ministry opportunities. Another told me that she was able to pray for a friend who was going through something similar. God is using their pain to open their hearts to the broken world around them.

Some of my kids are angry and questioning. Don't think that God is not in that as well. When we question God, when we doubt him, it's an opportunity for our faith to become real and personal. I want my children to know God because they have experienced him personally, not just because they have watched me walk with God.

Throughout these months in the valley, I have often protected my children from my own pain. I didn't want them to be overwhelmed or feel more afraid. I saw myself as their security. Yet, in recent days I have not been able to do that. They have watched me lose it completely. They've heard me scream, watched me slam doors, and seen me cry more tears than they could count.

I believe there is a fine line between being real with your kids and venting with them inappropriately. My six are 14-20; they're not little children. Grief is a weird thing and learning to allow yourself to walk in it can be tricky. Letting my kids know that I'm not okay gave them the freedom to fall apart too. None of us are okay in this house. And that's okay.

So here I sit in the middle of my helplessness, yet I am held together, surrounded, and fiercely loved by my Father. My children are his and he is doing the same for them. Their healing is in his hands.

After they leave this house, when pain finds them again I want them to know they have a healer. I want them to know their healer. I want my children to run to Jesus and rest in him, not live in fear or wait for me to come rescue them. So, while they are in this house, I release them to do exactly that.

I can pray. I can allow them to see how I do it. Imperfectly, but purposefully pursuing Jesus and his healing.

He is the one working it all together for their good and his glory. He is making all things new. Our Father will one day make it all better.

¹⁶ Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. ¹⁷ For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. ¹⁸ So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. 2 Corinthians 4:16-18

³ Not only so, but we^[c also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; ⁴ perseverance, character; and character, hope. ⁵ And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us. Romans 5:3-5