Dear small group babies,
You probably hate it when I call you my babies. You’re too mature to be considered such, I understand that, but you will forever be my babies, so, sorry I’m not sorry.
If I haven’t made it clear: I’m crazy about you. I love you and I like you. In fact, I could not love you more if I tried. It is a joy and privilege to do life with you, to lead you, to hear your perspectives and views and opinions, to witness your depth and get glimpses of your heart. I cherish each moment I get to be with you.
But life isn’t always joy bubbles and cake pops, is it? These days are wonderful and beautiful but also hard and exhausting. Mixed into the magical moments are seasons of struggle, of mundane, of fighting the fear of failure and the dreaded, crippling concern of being considered “less than.”
You, my dear, are not less than.
But here’s the thing. The radio of the world is always blaring. Culture, people, parents, peers, teachers, magazines, music, movies—they’re always talking to you, informing you, and subconsciously shaping your character and person and telling you what you need to be. Voices are constantly bombarding you, saying you need to be thinner, fatter, taller, shorter, more athletic, more intelligent, less talkative, more talkative, more opinionated, less opinionated.
The enemy of our souls is skilled at preying on our insecurities and exploiting them for anything but God’s glory. He wants you paralyzed by fear and uncertainty, plagued with doubts and discouragement, and pestered by a self-focus that will destroy you. I want to fight against his lies, accusations and traps, so please let me add one more voice to your life, one that I pray is Scriptural and points to the Wise One who loves you more than anyone else, even me (which is hard for me to wrap my mind around).