They Are Not Mine

I’m looking at my children tonight in a different light.

I’m thinking, “They are not mine.”

They are His. He alone loves them more than their father and I do.

The older Will gets, the more I am frustrated by one thing. What is this “one thing” that frustrates me most about my teenage boy?

It is that I can’t make his choices for him. I can argue FOR the choice I wish for him to make, but, alas, I cannot make them for him. I can only stand back and watch the consequences. Some choices I’m still in control of, some I still have the final say in, but for the most part, it’s out of my hands.

I feel that raising a teenager is like trying to hold on to a big fish you’ve just caught. They are floundering and flopping around, struggling to break loose of your grip, making it near impossible for you to hold on and keep control. Every once in a while they may tire out, give in and you can hold them, but they are slippery, and eventually you realize you are not the one in control as they flop out of your hands.

Not matter what you do, no matter how they may lull you into thinking you have things under control, ultimately, they get to call the final shots. They do their homework. Or not. Study. Or not. Do the right thing. Or not. And some of those “Or nots” have lasting consequences. Some temporary. Some permanent. Some eternal.

Today, my community is mourning for and with a family who has watched their lives suddenly change forever in the last 24 hours. Their life suddenly became headline news for everyone else to see. These are people I don’t even know, though many of my friends do, and I’ve been thinking about them a lot today–about how fragile life is, about how much I love my kids, about how easy it is for them to make a choice that changes everything–forever.

I watched my 13 year old son get in my van when I picked him up from school and looked at him and said, “Promise me! Promise me you will NEVER drink and get behind the wheel of a car! Promise me! Promise me you won’t drink when you are in high school. Please promise me.”

He looked at me bewildered–no idea where this was coming from–“Mom? Why would I do that? Of course not, Mom!” and I looked at him and said, “You say that now, but you have to keep promising. You don’t know now what choices you will make later.”

I tried terribly to hold it together I as I drove away from the building that was just full of children becoming teenagers; already making choices that they can’t take back. And before I panic, before I lock him away for the rest of his life to save him from himself, I have to remind myself, “They are not mine. They are His. And He is in control, not me. No matter how hard I try to take that job from Him. God is vast and great and mysterious and I cannot understand what happened today or the pain that family and those boys’ friends are feeling because I am not. I will just have to rest in the knowledge that my children are His. And He loves them. Even more than me.

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2 thoughts on “They Are Not Mine

  1. I recall a similar conversation w God as my oldest was growing up. I was freaking out that she could awry. God clearly said to me “you have a great kid. If she screws up deal with it then until then just enjoy her”. I did. She never went off the deep end. You have a great son. Trust that. Enjoy him

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