“Don’t you want to come down the slide?”  “Nope!”  {Nervous giggles from the top of the slide.}  “Mommy is right here.  I’ll catch you.”

“Mommy, carry you?”  {Walking into Kindermusik}  “You can do it.  You are a big boy, but Mommy is right here beside you.”

I see my two-year-old struggle with new things – doing new things, going new places, meeting new people.  And I completely understand.  He looks just like his Daddy, but inside, he is like me.  He is unsure, hesitant, not confident.  He wants to go, do, play, be – but he is so scared.  And so am I.

Afraid of not measuring up, of making a fool, of doing it wrong.  Afraid I won’t be liked, accepted … appreciated.

The Enemy reminds me of the times that I have felt left out, lonely, a failure.  I hear the words all over again – “you don’t look like us,” “she’ll never be good enough.”  Lost friendships, lost opportunities, lost dreams all come to the surface again and again.

“Henry, Mommy will catch you.  Mommy will always catch you.”  “Mommy is right here.  I’ll hold your hand.  You can do it.”

And, I will.  As long as I have breath, I will catch him, I will hold his hand, I will be there to help him when he needs me.  But I don’t want him to be afraid.  I want him to learn that he can do anything.

I hear the Father saying the same words to me.  “I am walking with you.  I am carrying you.  I am right beside you.  I am holding your hand.  Trust Me.”

My friend Jill and I are praying about a new ministry.  She is adventurous and bold in ways that I am not.  I am white-knuckled with fear.  What will others say?  Will people support us and join with us?  Will we succeed?

Regardless of what comes of our praying, dreaming, and planning, God is asking us to trust Him.  He is walking with us.

He wants us to be bold, unafraid, trusting.  We need to step out of the boat, climb the Sycamore tree, reach out and touch His robe.  He is with us.