Phillip (my son) just celebrated his 37th birthday this past week. After all these years, I can still remember every detail of June 21. If we had been living in the 1800s, he and I would most likely be dead. By the time the doctor decided to do a C-Section, Phillip was in distress. Our little guy was purple by the time he was delivered, but he was perfect. I consider this Miracle #1 in my life.

If you’re a mother, I’m sure you remember every detail of giving birth to your first born. There’s just something about that first experience that imprints it on our memories forever.

But as mothers, our job doesn’t end there, does it? We get through the Terrible Twos, the Tween Years, the Teen Years, and then…ahhh—Adulthood. But we continue to worry and pray, because now their problems takes more than a band aid to fix.

About two years ago, I felt the urge to pray for Phillip in the mornings. So I’d get up before work to walk and pray. I used Psalm 1 as a foundation for my daily prayer. He never knew I was praying for him, and I’ll probably never know why I felt the urge to do so.

Sometimes all we can do is pray for our children. I’ve learned some truth in this past year. I can’t fix my problems or anyone else’s. What I can and should be doing is praying (talking) to God and asking for his help because He is my loving God and my fortress, my stronghold and my deliverer, my shield, in whom I take refuge, who subdues peoples under me (Psalm 144:2).

What more could I ask for than a loving God who has the power to protect my children? Not one darn thing!