I spent much of the evening yesterday watching my godson. My beautiful, perfect godson—fair complexion, big brown eyes, chubby cheeks with just the right amount of glow. I watched him crawl around the floor, exploring everything in sight. He discovered a multi-coloured hoola hoop and was giddy every time it passed above him. He practised standing tonight, with the aid of his father, and beamed brilliantly whenever a fall was averted. He clambered across my belly and suddenly stopped for a trancelike gaze at the ceiling lights and fan. I watched him, and I was mortified.

My mind bounded among thoughts of the millions of things that could happen to him. What if he lost a limb? What if some scarring illness or tragic accident befell him? What if something horrible happens? With each scary thought, my heart sank a little more; I was soon overwhelmed and could barely keep myself together. Such prospects were heart-wrenching. And I’m not even related to him.

I can’t imagine parenthood being an easy task. Not only the myriad physical responsibilities, but also the emotional burdens parents are charged with can, in my mind, only be a very heavy load. Parents only want what’s best for their kids: well wishes, hopes, and dreams flourish and settle upon the heads of their children. And one day some dream-shattering truth may develop that crushes any chance of all those good aspirations ever occurring the way so perfectly envisioned. How does a parent deal with that? To say that God has a plan brings reassurance. It's hard to believe that it wouldn't be one tinged with a little fear that His plan could be incompatible with one’s own desires so carefully and painstakingly nurtured.