Sometimes, I like to drill a point home, especially when I’m in the right, even though there’s no need to.

My husband jokes about how lovely I look atop my huge white steed.

I then ask him if he likes how gorgeous, my long blond locks are, flowing in the wind.

The thing is, I have an issue with pride. But the other thing is, God knew this would be the case and therefore, gave me my daughter to raise.

Let’s call her Mags.

Like the rest of our family, Mags has her mental crosses to bear. But Mags is also creative and wildly funny and stubborn as a mule.

I used to joke that if anyone kidnapped her, they’d send her right back. But honestly, my actual fear was that she’d somehow supersede the ringleader and take over the whole operation herself.

Seriously.

Mags has taught me so much about myself. Maybe that book learning is all fun and games until you have a living, breathing human in front of you that isn’t as black or white as you wish the world to be.

She’s all shades of gray, man, and plucking apart each individual color is like searching for needles in a haystack.

God’s used her to show me love. Like I mentioned before, I used to pray for her to change.

Oh, sweet naïve Ericka.

What God needed me to see is that I was the one who needed changing.

Not to say, it wouldn’t be nice knowing my daughter couldn’t end up the brainchild behind some sort of multi-tiered hostage situation.

But, maybe it’s even better knowing He’s taught me to love what’s right in front of me, to take my cares and anxieties about her and place them at His feet, and know that I’m not the one in charge of the details, He is.

The view is a lot nicer from down here. Just don’t tell my husband.