Last year I was diagnosed with glaucoma, which really hasn’t affected my life in any way, except that I have to go to the eye doctor a little more frequently than most people. And those visits sometimes require some unusual tests.

Last week I had my quarterly exam and had to take a “field vision” or “peripheral vision” test. I’ve had to do this test a few times in the past, and I have to say it’s one that I dread. Not because it hurts, but because it requires six minutes of intense concentration.

My husband is a a bit of a genealogy junkie. Usually during the quieter time of year, say, the holidays and throughout the month of January, he can usually be found in his office, researching family history.

One day he came into the room where I was working and said, “Did you know that you come from royalty?”

(He’s asking me this question? Of course I’m a princess!)

Turns out, a member of my family was some type of British duke way back in the 1200s and our royal line, while not that of the Windsors, was pretty impressive.

Family lore has it that another ancestor of mine signed the Declaration of Independence. My husband didn’t believe that one for a long time, until recently, when he was able to make an obscure connection to another family line.

Six months ago, our oldest daughter moved to a new city to take a job, and, never one to shy away from a challenge, she threw herself into her work with her usual gusto. This fall, her company sent her on a three-week work trip to a foreign country where she had never been and where she did not speak the language.

Soon after she arrived at her destination, Kate texted me to say that things were a bit difficult and asked me to pray. As the weeks went on, it seemed that my daughter faced mounting pressure and increasing obstacles. My mama’s heart was breaking for my daughter, but I obviously couldn’t hop on a plane to rescue her.

Despite the road blocks she was facing, I knew my daughter’s abilities, and I knew she’d handle the situation just fine. I also knew that she had sensed God’s leading to take this job and that she trusted his plan for her. I knew she would survive these challenging weeks by courageously moving ahead in faith.

My job, as a parent, was simply to encourage and to pray.

I still remember Kate’s first day of kindergarten. Her bobbed hair pulled back with a huge, pink bow. Her denim dress, white socks, and little tennis shoes. Her expectant smile and shining blue eyes.

I remember her teacher holding a huge cut out teddy bear on a stick, directing everyone into the classroom, and then the door closing behind her, and me crying like I didn’t expect to cry.

I had high hopes as a parent back then. I had goals and desires for my daughters, like just getting through kindergarten. And I thought parenting would be a breeze (my third had not yet been born!).

It didn’t take long for me to lose sight of that early anticipation, though. As the years went by, my feelings of failure began to grow and I started to count, not my blessings, but my mistakes.