It was over a year ago that my daughter entered high school. The day came to register her and get her schedule for the new school year. It’s somewhat a rite of passage and I wanted to make sure I acknowledged it as such. I had taken the morning off work, allowing myself to mark the milestone unhurried.
I was quick to fill out all of the necessary paperwork and within just a few minutes, she was given her class schedule. She scanned the paper looking to see if she got the electives she wanted. After a short study, she was eager to walk the halls and familiarize herself with the classrooms and her locker. I was eager to help! After all, this was the same high school I attended over three decades ago.
I had been back to this school many times since then, but for the most part, I’d just been to the gym for games or graduations, or sometimes an occasional meeting in the cafeteria. I hadn’t walked these halls in years. It was almost as if time had stood still. The halls, lockers, and classrooms looked exactly the same. Math hall was still the math hall. Science hall was still the science hall. In fact, her biology classroom was the exact same room that I took biology in as a freshman, including the lab tables.
While it looked exactly the same, it felt very different. It was no longer overwhelming and daunting. It wasn’t filled with unkind peers. Most of the teachers had changed, but there was still one or two that remained.
With the class schedule in hand, we took off to find her classrooms. She has always been fiercely independent and this day was no exception. As I tried to guide her, suggesting which halls were which, she let me know she wanted to do this herself. This girl embraces a challenge like nobody’s business. (Love that about her!)
We do a complete run-through, locker and all. After a few more paths of discovery, she announced that she’d like to walk through her schedule one more time. She headed toward her English class, but as I point out, she’s in the wrong hall. She disagrees, to which I reply, “Trust me, I’ve walked these halls before.” We end up with a not-so-pleasant moment. I try explaining that I knew she was going the wrong way. Then, she looks at me and says. “Mom, let me make my own mistakes. I’ll learn better that way.”
Wait. What? I knew she was heading the wrong way. Isn’t that what a mom is supposed to do? Aren’t we supposed to show them the right way? Aren’t we supposed to help them see around the corners? Help avoid unnecessary delay? Remember, I’ve been here before. I walked these halls for four years. I knew the best way, a more direct path, to get from freshman lockers to her fourth hour class.
And while all of that is true, I also realized she was right: she would learn better from making her own mistakes. Sometimes the hardest part of parenting is watching in silence.
I’ve had a whole year to reflect on that day. I’ve tried to extract some wisdom from that experience. Countless times I’ve heard her voice in my head saying, “Mom, let me make my own mistakes. I’ll learn better that way.” And while that is counter-intuitive to my instinct as a mother, her statement reminds me of the truth that it speaks—a truth that has helped me see the similarities in my walk with God.
Just as I was eager to help her find her way, God is eager to help me find my way. He doesn’t want to see me struggle. His heart hurts when I stubbornly head in the wrong direction. Maybe it’s not always outright defiance, but I can picture myself standing in His presence, so sure that I have it all figured out, that I fail to hear His instruction.
Just as experience had taught me a few shortcuts, God wants to show me a better way, perhaps a more direct path. Sometimes I’m on my own path of discovery. I choose to walk with obstacles and unnecessary delay simply because I have to learn things for myself.
Just as walking those halls after thirty years no longer felt overwhelming, when I choose to walk with God, the path before me is not as daunting.
Having children has always helped me better understand the Father’s love. As I’ve pondered this particular day’s lesson, the personal application helps me understand His pain.
These days, I’m trying to parent a little differently. I’m allowing more freedom to learn from mistakes. I’m trying to hold my tongue a little bit more. I’m trying harder to let God guide my steps as a parent. I’m begging for His wisdom and discernment at every turn.
I’m learning to lean in a little bit closer. And when I do, I hear Him say, “Trust me, I’ve walked these halls before.”
