Like many first-time moms, I spent months preparing for the birth of my first child. I read books about labor and delivery. I arranged the nursery just so. And I packed my bag for the hospital stay.

I also envisioned that moment when the doctor would lay my baby on my tummy. I imagined everything in slow motion like a movie reel as an otherworldly joy enveloped everyone in the room.

Yet, when the time came, that’s not exactly what happened. As soon as my daughter was born, the doctor whisked her away. A team of nurses surrounded the bassinet made of Plexiglas while the doctor quickly worked to clear my baby’s eyes and lungs of the meconium that covered her.

I was only 22 at the time, but I knew that I was supposed to hear my baby cry.

No sounds came.

Fear swept over me. Instead of a warm cuddly moment filled with awe, I strained to catch a glimpse of my child from across the room. It felt like a thousand miles spanned the distance between us. I couldn’t hold her. I couldn’t help her breathe. I couldn’t do anything. Except one thing.

Pray.

Lord, protect her. Help her breathe.

Then I thought of Abraham and the way he trusted God with his son Isaac. And I wondered if I could trust God the same way. I’ll be honest: I didn’t want to find out. But I knew God wanted me to surrender everything in my heart to Him.

Lord, help me to trust You. No matter what.

Moments later, an infant cry interrupts my prayer. She’s breathing. And the doctor tells me that she’s going to be fine.

But in the space of a millisecond, before I heard her cry, something transpired between me and God. He showed me that He cares for my daughter even more than I do, and no matter what the circumstances are or how far apart we might be . . . He has called me as a mom to pray for my children.

Today, my baby girl is a college student a thousand miles away. And the distance between us resurrects that same old fear. She’s so far away. I can’t be there in an instant if she needs me. I feel helpless.

My powerlessness brings fear, but God’s power brings peace — the kind of peace that can only come from Him. So I bend my knees and pray a thousand more prayers and remember that He cares for my children even more than I do.

When the root of worry takes hold, I find myself re-learning the same lesson God has been teaching me for eighteen years:

Sometimes prayer is the only thing left for a mother to do. And it’s enough.

Have you experienced a moment in motherhood
when prayer was all you could do?

My powerlessness brings fear, but God’s power brings peace. <Tweet that!>

Sometimes prayer is the only thing left for a mother to do. And it’s enough. <Tweet that!>