I have big dreams for my kids.

Sure, there are some things I'm proud of already: they eat their vegetables. They adore books. They are good about brushing their teeth. Occasionally people compliment me on their behavior, and I feel like I just won the lottery. "People think I have good kids! Oh joy! I must be doing something right!"

Other times, I am constantly critiquing myself, wondering if I am a good mother.

In one sense, they have all they could ever ask for: food, shelter, a large extended family that adores them, two parents who love them and love each other and are generally well-intentioned.

But the best of intentions do not always translate into the best of actions, and being willing to die for someone is not always the same as being willing to get up off the couch and spend time with them. My love for them may be strong, but it's not always strong enough to keep my temper in check. It's when I lose my patience yet again that I start to think about how my actions today affect my relationship with my kids forever.

My goals for my children have been on my mind a lot this week, as Beth takes a first tiny step of independence: starting preschool. Three mornings a week, she'll be influenced by someone other than her father and I--her teachers and her little peers will become a part of the chorus of voices she listens to, the people who help shape who she becomes.

You see, I want more for my children than good test scores and politeness.

I want creativity and curiosity.

I want a sincere respect for others around them, young and old alike.

I want kindness.

I want a thirst for knowledge and the courage to pursue their dreams.

I want them to love, revere and obey their Creator.

I want them to turn to Eric and I for advice and support. I want family bonds that are stronger than the passing influences of their peers. I want to be about the things that matter.

These things do not come naturally. The most natural thing in the human heart--both my heart and theirs--is selfishness. They want what's most pleasant for them: to have fun all day and to get their own way all the time. I want what's most pleasant for me: to complete my own plans for the day without a lot of annoyances or interruptions. The trick is to deal with my own selfishness first, so I can help them to deal with their own.

I was talking with my husband about all these things, and his advice to me was wise (as it usually is). Stop worrying so much, he told me. The only way you can really pass on your morals to your children is by living them. If you tell them a lot of nice Bible stories but don't match them with your actions, they'll see right through you. And the only way to build a relationship that lasts is by spending time with someone.

So I'm trying. To put my fears aside. To remind myself that telling one more story, one more time, really won't kill me and just might make my daughter's day. To put off the old self and its desires. To live day-to-day in a way that will someday make my dreams for my children a reality.