On the weightiness of parenting.

I wrote this a year ago, and found it in my drafts today. 

Something I’ve been pondering: when someone accepts Christ “against all odds” and turns her life around, we don’t credit the parents. But when a child grows up in a Christian family and chooses to go his own way as he becomes an adult, suddenly all eyes seem to be on the parents. Judgy, condemning, “What did you do wrong” eyes. 

People. No. Stop it. 

Parenting is the scariest thing I have ever done. This is why: the work is pretty well laid out, at least in the basic format, (love them, guide them, point them to Jesus) but the “results” are largely out of my control. In other words, there’s no formula that guarantees that my kids will turn out how I intended. There’s no formula to guarantee success. As with everything else a Christian is called to do, we are required to remain faithful, obey God, work hard, and leave the results in God’s hands. As with almost nothing else in life, the stakes are higher, the investment more intense, and the emotional toll is at an all time high. 

Any good result is a direct result of the Holy Spirit’s power and the grace of God. So why, why, why do we as humans take the credit for ourselves (or assign it to another set of parents) when their adult (or adultish) children “turn out right”? 

And why do we judge when another child decides to take a path that leads them away from God and everything they were ever taught?! 

I understand there are principles here, faithfulness, sowing and reaping, and all of that. And we absolutely are called to be faithful to God’s Word and parent our children well. And we should wholeheartedly dedicate ourselves to the weighty and serious task. 

But God writes the story. God. Not me. And part of this excruciating parenting journey is looking into the beautiful, trusting eyes of my precious children and know that someday the love and bond we are building could be my undoing. It is so hard to give them to God. To surrender my need for control over to Him. My oldest is 11, and I tremble for the future possibilities, until...

I remember my God. 

“My thoughts are not your thoughts...”

“My word...shall not return to me empty...”

“I have come to SEEK and to save...”

The lost sheep

The lost coin

The prodigal son

The God who relentlessly pursued me. Who saved me despite my thinking I could do a pretty good job of it on my own. Oh my pride, my pride. And yet He loved me. 

The record of His faithfulness. 

The devotion to His own glory. 

And these lessons that He continues to bring me back to - Surrender. Humility. Submission. Relaxing in His plan - they apply to my parenting, too. And maybe someday it won’t be so scary, because I will have learned the lesson or set aside my pride or whatever it is I need to learn. But I kind of think that won’t be until I am with Him, to be honest. Because every day, I still fight for control. I still hold my breath in uncertainty.

I’m gradually learning that not only must I surrender my will and plans for my own life, but I must offer my plans and dreams for their lives too, and entrust them to a Good Father who is more than capable of writing their stories, His way. And I get a front row seat. 

There will be joy. There already has been. There will be pain, because of a broken world. Because in spite of our efforts, we can’t choose, or control, or will, or formulate our children. 

Let’s stop taking the credit, and let’s stop assigning blame. Celebrate faithfulness. Encourage young parents to stay the course. Give them tips, if they want them, or need them. Be teachable. Accept the wisdom of others. Walk with each other in the trenches, pray for each other and our kids. Beg God to calm our anxious hearts. Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep. And at the end of the day, trust in the faithfulness of God. Without Him, we can do nothing.