Our final Shameless Woman post is my lovely sister-in-law, Paige Rauh. Paige is one of the reasons I married my hubby â€”  I wanted to be her sister-in-law. She is a fabulous mom, friend, teacher, and dancer. 
Paige shares a powerful story about shame-filled mothering. Most of us can relate. 
I know you’ll be encouraged by God’s work in her life and in the life of her kids. 
Shame, Shame, Shame…I Know Your Name
I am an expert on shame. I have lived it, breathed it, and at times have allowed it to wreak havoc in my life.  
I was even raising my three kids in it.
Not that having one gender of child is easier or harder than the other—I just knew that because of my doctorate in shame, I had no business raising girls. Shockingly, God entrusted me with just 1 boy and 2 little girls  (one evidently wasn’t going to be enough to keep me at His feet).  As with raising any child, there are moments of pure bliss and others of pure chaos—all mixed in with great successes and utter failures.
Each time I have a parenting success, I am quick to brush it off.
Yet with each failure I beat myself with the shame stick and wonder if it is possible to raise my daughters without shame—especially when it’s had such a handle on me for what feels like a lifetime.
                       
I rely heavily on my own capabilities, so for a long time, I believed that I could white-knuckle my way through raising fearless daughters—all while secretly hiding my own shame and self–doubt.
I began to pray for my girls out of fear. I slathered them in praise, encouraged them to be proud of themselves and all the while wondered if it was working—and thanks to shame—assumed it wasn’t. 
I felt utterly hopeless in my quest to raise strong daughters.
Would all of this fake fearlessness I was building in them create daughters who didn’t make mistakes? Who saw themselves as the beautiful princesses of the Most High? Who never felt bad about themselves? What is a shameless daughter anyway?
Despite all my efforts, I couldn’t come up with a self-reliant answer. So, naturally, I gave up.
My daughters were destined to deal with the same fear and self-doubt that plagued their mom.
I knew it was a matter of giving them to God and raising them with His help, but I was paralyzed because that would mean I could no longer hide my own shame. I would have to admit to myself, to God, and to my daughters, that I was incapable—and that was the ultimate failure. Out came the shame stick for another beating.
I told God that if He wanted to be in control of my children, He was going to have to fight this strong-willed woman for them—and I reminded Him that he made me this way.

God called me to task and never gave up.  

I started with my son, my oldest and easiest. I truly believe
to raise a son well means to work yourself out of a job. This is God’s
design. How many strained mother-in-law/daughter-in-law relationships are out
there because of this pull over our men? And although theoretically I believe this, I still wasn’t going to give up without a fight. 


After several nights of praying for God to change my heart, it happened. In an instant, I felt God change me. My son is God’s child and parenting him is no longer about me, my shame, or about what I want for him anymore. It is about God’s plan for him.
I moved on to my youngest daughter. Of course, I didn’t make this any easier on myself.  For several nights, as I cuddled her, I fought God. I told Him that I couldn’t live with the fear of not being in control of her. I could not watch her suffer through the issues I had as a young woman.  
Then again, it happened and I can honestly say that my fear for her was supernaturally eased.
I stopped here—I would not, could not, give my middle child to God. 
She is a special sort of trigger for my shame and fear. She makes life very hard on herself. She seeks the most difficult path for everything, and then literally screams and cries the whole way down that path. I saw the writing on the wall for her. Her future was filled with terrible decisions. I already had her drinking, smoking, doing drugs and being promiscuous (she was 3).
I had a kung fu grip on this kid. I was going to protect her from all the awful decisions that awaited her, or I was going to die trying.  
This time, months and months went by and it was a heart-wrenching process. I felt such peace after handing my other two children to Jesus, one would think that I would run right to His arms with this one. Nope.  
One afternoon, my daughter brought me to the edge of myself. I sat on the floor of her room alone and I lost it— I’m not talking about a cute little tear shed; this was all out sniffling, rocking-back-and-forth, can’t-catch-your-breath sort of crying. In that moment, I didn’t gently hand her to God—I threw her.
I no longer try to white-knuckle my way through raising shameless children.  I finally accepted their journey as just that—their journey. 

The only place a shame-filled mother can find peace is in God. I am so grateful that He was patient with me as I learned to return my children to Him.
The prayer I now pray for my children is different. It is no longer cloaked in fear. It is a prayer filled with God’s goodness and with the knowledge that He will use me to raise His children in whatever way He sees fit. I am at peace because He is the only one capable of raising shameless children.
The last piece of the puzzle is giving my shame and fear to Jesus. This hasn’t happened yet. God is working in my life in many ways, but I would be lying if I said I have been able to give that to Him yet.  
But, I am trusting Him and waiting patiently now.  I can’t white-knuckle this either. I know from the experience of giving my children to God that it is Him—not me—doing the work.
I will wait for my turn, knowing through the blood-shed of Jesus, God will deliver.
Hadessa Creative

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