In my last post to you I talked about how a few years ago I adapted the mantra of staying in my own lane. It has really become a prayer of my heart to remember that I am called to do what God has put in my heart to do, and I cannot do, or worry about, what other people are doing. It is so easy to see other people and think, “oh, I should probably do that too,” whether it is in regards to workouts or serving or even fashion. Along my nearly 45 years I have realized that I am an individual with my own needs and my own calling, and I will be a much happier and peaceful person if I just focus on that calling.
One of my callings is to be a parent to two wonderful boys. They are teenagers now, one beginning his Senior year very soon and one soon to be entering High School. I remember so vividly the first time I held them and as I have watched them grow my desires and dreams for them have grown as well. If I am being honest, my dreams for them began during pregnancy. I would feel them move and wonder who they were, what they looked like, and who they were going to be. Once I saw their precious faces, it all intensified. Every success, every joy, and every heartbreak I have felt deeply. I want so much for them, but if I am being really honest, it doesn’t matter at all what I want for them. The only thing that matters is what they want for themselves.
When they were babies and toddlers it was easy to decide things for them. I picked their clothes and food and friends. They had no control over any of it, so if I wanted them to be preppy little kings who ate only chicken and vegetables, that is what they were. It was awesome! Once they entered school, control lessened a bit. I was still packing lunches and buying clothes (and sending them to a school that has uniforms ha!), but in the 7 hours they were in the school building who they spoke to and how they behaved and even what they ate of their lunch was left in their hands. I remember several car conversations, especially with my youngest who still protests food, begging them to eat the fruit and meat in the lunch box, not just the cookie and crackers. I also spent too much time asking who they sat with, why won’t they sit with so and so, and then steering them to play at recess with “this” group, who I knew to be “good” kids. I wanted them to make good choices in picking friends and felt that bit of oversight falling out of my grasp a bit. I spent a lot of time second guessing some of their choices. Why did you do this? Why do you want to play football on the playground instead of climbing the jungle gym? Why did you choose this role in the class program instead of this role? How many times I created little pockets of doubt in their hearts! I wonder how often they question their choices because of me, or wondered if I was going to be disappointed in something they wanted to do.
As they have grown into teenagers, the management of their time and activities becomes less and less. I have definitely lost all semblance of control over what nutrition, or lack there of, they take in when not at my dinner table. Sure, I can make suggestions and give advice, and I do retain control over certain behaviors through punishment and correction. That is not what I am talking about here. I am talking about the things that are making them who they are and want to be. I am talking about honors classes versus on level classes, which science option to take, do you want to take art or be in the band, or both. I am talking about friends they become close to and girls they choose to talk to and what summer job they pursue. I offer guidance or try to shed some life experience into decision making, but do I trust them enough to make these decisions? What happens if they make the wrong choice or worse what happens if I don’t trust them to make these decisions?
My goal has always been to produce independent and confident men. I want my boys to be productive members of society (I tell them this often) who are caring and loving and kind. I want them to be successful and happy at whatever they choose to do. I have learned through a lot of trial and error that if I choose their classes or their jobs or even their girlfriends, I am not raising independent or confident men. They don’t know how to trust their own instincts or follow their heart in the way it leads. They don’t listen for God’s voice. They listen for mine. I absolutely give instruction around here, I promise they will attest firmly to this, but at this point I am learning how to be a sign post and not an itinerary. I have let my kids fall on their faces, and it is excruciatingly hard to watch. Every fiber of my being wants to cushion the blow and fall for them, but I can’t. Every fall teaches them to stand back up, teaches them to recognize trouble, and teaches them the right way to go. I am not a hands off mother. I hold their hand when they fall and help wipe the dirt from their face. I wipe the tears when they fall, and I cheer the loudest when they win. I don’t call the coach or the teacher, I talk to my son. I ask the question, what can you do better? I also cheer “look how well you did!” I watch them self-correct and find the confidence in themselves.
I am so proud of the men they are becoming. There are a lot more choices to make and paths to forge. Some are very big and some are small. Some are staring us in the face and some are lurking around distant corners. I feel like my sons are just at the tips of my fingers. You know when you drop something, and you are fighting to hold on to it, grasping frantically with your fingers? That is how I feel with the boys right now. Time is fleeting and each day my grasp loosens a bit, but I will always stand next to them ready with a tissue to wipe tears or confetti to celebrate. They are still mine to parent and guide, but I am not longer walking in front of them, leading they way. I am now walking next to them, urging them onward, and occasionally in a different direction, but holding their hands and enjoying this time by their sides.