When my oldest son was around 4, he had a seizure in a crowded subway station. I held him in my arms while his little 2-year-old sister cried next to me. I was also very pregnant. His beautiful eyes rolled back in his head, and his whole body stiffened and turned pale and clammy. I held him and frantically looked around for someone to help me, but everyone seemed to avert their eyes. Nobody stopped to help us. I felt like I couldn’t quite grasp him between my gigantic belly and my tight grip on his sister’s hand. I didn’t want her to go wandering toward the tracks. My attention was torn between my seizing son, my scared daughter, and my cramping body. I felt like a complete failure, unable to keep anyone safe. My eyes start stinging even today, thinking about how frantic I was for anyone to help us and how lost and alone I felt in that sea of commuters.
This was about 15 years ago, but it feels like yesterday. I remember what I was wearing (god-awful maternity clothes), what the station smelled like (not great), and my son’s favorite t-shirt drenched with sweat. Eventually, we got help. He recovered fully, and it never happened again. Of course, there have been other heart-in-throat moments with all three kids. The midnight sounds of croup cough, a nasty staph infection, even a torn ACL and subsequent surgery. Childhood is a string of injuries tied together with endless piles of goldfish crackers.
As the kid gets older, the hurts get more complicated. I would choose a million nights with croup over one family meeting where you must tell your tweens that you’re getting divorced. I would choose the face of a vomiting toddler over that of a teenager who doesn’t feel good enough.
My instinct is to shield them from pain. But I’m catching myself lately and recognizing the need to let them succeed or fail on their own terms. I want to better equip them with the tools they need to navigate the world without saying, “get out of the way. I have a toolbox. I’ll do it for you.”
I recently had dinner with my oldest, who has some tough decisions ahead of him. It’s his life story to tell, but I will say that I literally had to SIT ON MY HANDS so I wouldn’t just whip out my phone and start filling out a passport application for him. We made a plan together, and he should take the first step. Every fiber of my body wants to sweep these kids up, fill out their tax returns, and tuck them into bed. I grew up having to do so much on my own. I was signing my own permission slips by ten years old. I want my kids to know they always have a safe place to land. But I have to resist the urge to take their place and operate on their behalf. They have to live in their agency.
The original Big Papa (God) models this perfectly. He is compassionate, has perfect follow-through, knows what’s best, and forgives without holding it against us later. He doesn’t give us blessings as ammunition or bribery; he blesses us when we are ready and because he loves us passionately. He wants to see us thrive. He doesn’t take our bodies over like robots and make our choices for us but instead gives us a pretty clear blueprint for how he would prefer we operate. He is dependable, consistent, and trustworthy. How amazing would it be if the people we love said the same about us? If my kids are asked one day, “what kind of parent was your mom?” and they used anything close to these descriptors, I would be overjoyed.
We’re all just kids in one way or another, perpetually learning and growing into God’s fatherly expectations for us. I love this passage from Hebrews, that really puts a fire in me to claim my identity as a daughter of God:
7 It is for discipline that you have to endure. God is treating you as sons. For what son is there whom his father does not discipline? 8 If you are left without discipline, in which all have participated, then you are illegitimate children and not sons. 9 Besides this, we have had earthly fathers who disciplined us and we respected them. Shall we not much more be subject to the Father of spirits and live? 10 For they disciplined us for a short time as it seemed best to them, but he disciplines us for our good, that we may share his holiness. 11 For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.
Whether you have kids or not, there are likely people in your life you want to see flourish. It’s an excellent reminder to look to God for the way to love others with high standards for their character but grace-filled open arms when they stumble.