What's Happening at FCC

This past week, I had the joy of taking both of my girls to their new schools for registration and picture day. Lily is officially a high school freshman, and Charlotte is now a middle-schooler. I helped them both do their hair for pictures, and we spent time shopping for school supplies. As I drove them to their new schools, it hit me that it’s been over a decade since Lily’s very first day of preschool. How has 11 years passed so quickly?

At one point, Lily was standing in line with a girl she started 4K with, and her dad looked over and said, “It’s gone so fast... 4 to 14 in a flash.” And he’s right.

I watched both girls ride an emotional roller coaster in just a few days. There was the pure excitement of getting back to school and reconnecting with friends. There was nervousness about entering new schools filled with unfamiliar faces and teachers. And of course, there was the universal fear of not being able to open a locker (turns out that this is a universal fear).

But then came the emotion that’s hardest for me to witness as a parent: worry. The worry about whether they’ll be accepted, whether they’ll find their people. It’s a fear we carry into adulthood too, isn’t it? As their mom, I want nothing more than for them to know they are enough, that they have value, and that they belong just as they are.

And yet, I worry too. I worry about whether my kids will grow up to be kind, caring people. I worry about my husband’s workload while his coworker recovers from a stroke. I worry about whether I’ll be treated fairly at work, about our family’s health, about our finances, my small business, and our church’s mission to reach more hearts in the community.

I know that worry can be destructive. It clouds my ability to see God at work in the moment. And yet, turning it off isn’t so easy. In Matthew 28:20, Jesus reminds us “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” That promise brings comfort, especially when worry creeps in.

When I feel overwhelmed, I turn to a routine that helps calm me. I stop, close my eyes, and take a few deep breaths. I picture Jesus sitting or standing beside me, and in that moment, I say, “Father, please hold me close.”

I always tell my kids, there’s nothing like a mother’s hug. When I wrap them tightly in my arms, we may not have all the answers about what's worrying them, but they feel safe, seen, and deeply loved. That’s how I picture Jesus when I ask Him to be near. I feel stronger just knowing I’m not alone.

So this week, I pray that you feel Jesus sitting right next to you, reminding you that you are never alone. And if you don’t already have a routine to help in uncertain times, you’re more than welcome to try mine.

Enjoy this praise song!
Never by Tasha Layton

In His Name,
Terry Buchmann