A Season for Everything: Learning to trust when it’s time to let go
“…Commit yourselves wholeheartedly to these commands that I am giving you today. Repeat them again and again to your children. Talk about them when you are at home and when you are on the road, when you are going to bed and when you are getting up. Tie them to your hands and wear them on your forehead as reminders. Write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.”
~Deuteronomy 6:6-9
I’ve spent a lot of my children’s lives talking. As a writer, I have a propensity towards wordiness, and though journalism school taught me to use them efficiently and concisely, my natural tendency is to ramble on.
When they’re babies, it’s our words that help our children acquire language. I often carried on what felt like a continuous narrative to my daughters in their highchairs, boosters, strollers and car seats: cooing and intoning compassion, delight and correction. Naming objects and colours, counting items in a row. Describing things and circumstances, and when they became toddlers, answering endless whys and how comes. All the while, instilling in them understanding of the world around them, of God, of me, and their relationship with and to these things.
As my children grew, so did the dynamics of our interactions. The weight of my words shifted and changed through their elementary years and expanded again in those middle school days of challenging boundaries, testing my limits, and discovering the power of their own words—and their ability to build up or to tear down.
There were years where my words had to be measured and concise; I called it “parenting in 30-second sound bites” because teenagers just aren’t interested in hearing you go on and on (Cue the eyeball roll).
There were years where my words felt frenzied because I knew the day was coming when my daughters would be moving into adulthood and I could see that my opportunities to speak into their lives were diminishing.
Once our children are adults, the dynamic shifts again. Another mother, whom I greatly admire, wisely calls it the transition from “manager” to “consultant.” When our children become adults, stepping out of the role of overseer and boss should be a perfectly natural transition. And yet, in many ways it feels perilous.
When I dropped my oldest daughter at university in a strange city thousands of kilometres away from our home, I questioned all of my choices and actions over the previous 18 years. Did I say enough? Did I do enough? In all of my talking, did I manage to instil the knowledge she’d need to thrive as an adult in her own right?
Of course, none of that mattered, because I was getting on a plane and heading back home.
In that moment, I had to choose to trust.
I had to trust the job I had done raising her to that point. Was I a perfect mother? Absolutely not. More than once I remarked to my eldest daughter that all of her firsts were also mine. First babies toss you into the deep end of parenting and few make it to shore without a life preserver. There are not many things in life as humbling as parenting, but we do the best we can with what we know and the tools we have, and God honours that.
I had to trust my daughter. Though still lacking in worldly experience, she was (and still is) a smart and savvy kid. (No longer a kid, but always my baby.) While she was growing up, I might have tried to save her from making all the same mistakes I made as a youth, but human nature dictates that she was destined to make her own. The most impactful thing I can do as her mom is to raise her knowing that I trust her, and she can trust me in return, no matter what circumstances she finds herself in.
I had to trust my Heavenly Father. What better role model to emulate in my parenting than our loving and generous God. Psalm 139 reminds me that my daughters are fearfully and wonderfully made—all their days were written in His book before even one of them came to be. If I believe this then I can be confident that He sees them, and He’s got them—no matter if they’re under my roof or on the other side of the country.
While I love my adult children to bits, I believe there is an element of distance all parents need to establish once our kids leave home. It doesn’t mean we aren’t still emotionally connected, but we have to let go of the need to control and, instead, trust them to take the reins, even while we are still working on loosening our grip. We need to put down the microphone (or, in my case, the megaphone), step off our soapbox and acknowledge that our speaking role is done. It’s time to focus on listening.
In my newly minted role as “consultant,” my job looks different than it once did. I need to understand that it’s a supporting role—one that is loving and encouraging, not meddling or insinuating. And, if my daughters happen to ask for my opinion, I can still offer sound advice and wise counsel. But I also know that they may choose to take or leave it and I need to be ok with that too. They are, after all, adults now.
Lord, thank you for helping me loosen my grip on the reins of my daughters’ lives. Thank you for the confidence I have knowing that they remain in the capable and loving hands of a Heavenly Father who loves them more than their earthly mother ever could. Thank you that, even as my words to them are now less prescriptive, the words you speak into and over their lives are timeless and without end.
“Direct your children onto the right path, and when they are older, they will not leave it.”
~Proverbs 22:6 (NLT)
This essay is just one of 14 that feature in a resource lovingly created by the talented Sue Fulmore, called Navigating Life with your Adult Children: Stories to Equip and Encourage. Sue has thoughtfully compiled a collection of essays written BY mothers, FOR mothers—to encourage you on your parenting journey even as your kids are grown. You can access your own copy of this FREE resource by clicking HERE.
Sue has created a gracious space on the Internet and I know you’ll feel welcome and understood there; you can visit her website by clicking HERE.
As always, thank you for taking the time to stop by this space. My hope is that you will find encouragement and companionship here as you navigate your way through the bumps of life, with faith, hope and humour.
Ever grateful for grace,
