My daughter wants to be a detective when she grows up.
This means she’ll have to be a police officer first.
It’s taken everything in me not to shout, “Do you even watch the news??” Which would be a moot point considering I already know she doesn’t.
Also, I don’t either.
But the blaring screens at my gym seem to think being a police officer is a losing game right now, and my child apparently didn’t get that memo. She talks about her future career like God’s already printed it on her heart, and she’s merely reading the directions.
She reminds me of when I was twelve and knew I was going to be a writer some day.
You can’t stop what providence is already in the midst of working out. As much as I want to worry and cry and scream and pull out my hair at the idea, I’m also realizing she’s been built for this.
Her journey is to bring God glory, not me.
Her life won’t be easy but that’s not something any of us are promised. My only hope, really, is that her life is used for the good of others and that she bows to nobody but God.