My eyes were red and puffy as I drove home by myself. The magnitude of motherhood overwhelmed me. Were the children getting what they needed from me? I wasn't sure. My mood matched the dreary day outside--the drizzle turned to rain and water splashed from my tires, spraying the concrete beneath with a muddy gray film. As the windshield wipers beat their steady rhythm, ugly thoughts beat at my heart, unrelenting in their questions and accusations.

I'd just dropped my children off at a homeschool function and I worried that my struggling reader would be embarrassed. Would he be able to handle the required reading? Was I doing enough to help him learn? And what about my youngest--we all tend to watch over him and undoubtedly I've indulged him. Would he be obedient and responsible? And should I have allowed my daughter to attend? A highschooler now, perhaps she should've stayed home and completed bookwork. Then there was the child I allowed to skip the activity because he wasn't interested in it. Was I too easy on him? Did he need to be made to go?

In that moment, the myriad of ways I'd let my children down washed over me. The times I hadn't disciplined well or followed through with a school project haunted me. The memories of my own character weaknesses mocked me. I wanted more than anything to be successful as a parent. After all, so much is at stake as I invest in the lives of my children. Their future hinges or me . . . or does it?

As I rushed down the highway, just wanting to get home, the song "Finger Prints of God" came on the radio. The words penetrated my weepy heart, reminding me that God is shaping my children and me and that He has a plan. No matter the rough places I see in myself or the struggles my children go through, my God is the Potter. He molds us into a work of art that only He fully sees now, but will someday reveal to all for eternity.

I hadn't slept well the night before (which undoubtedly had something to do with the tears and insecurities of that morning). I had finally given up on rest and curled up in my old blue recliner with a cup of hot chamomile and a whisper for help. I held my Bible in my lap and asked God to speak to me through it. I ended up reading in the Psalms. Three of the thoughts that jumped out at me the night before returned to my mind as the song continued on the car radio and I was comforted.

The first thought, found in Psalm 139:8a, reminds me that God is working out what He wants in both my life and lives of my children. It says in the New Living Translation, "The Lord will work out his plans for my life."

The struggles I would protect my children from but can't undoubtedly have God's fingerprints all over them. Someday I will see the fruit of character and faith developed in each of their particular struggles. I'm already able to see good things that have come out of my hard times growing up. I am comforted knowing that God won't give up on us--that He will work out His plans in our lives.