When We Hurt For Our Children

Parenting is hard. It's hard and sometimes ugly. You don't get an owner's manual when you have a child. There are no "do this and your kid will respond this way" instructions. Oh there are plenty of parent help books. And Lord knows you get oodles of advice from everyone around you--whether they have kids of their own or not. The problem is, children are not made from cookie cutters. They have thoughts, feelings, experiences, struggles that are unique to them. No one else has been exactly where they are. So you're on your own, essentially, trying to weed your way through all of the advice and the experience of others. You try a million different things for your given situation, hoping and praying that something, anything will stick. That somehow you'll come out on the other side a little wiser, with a child who's issue has been resolved, both of you no worse for the wear.

Our oldest is struggling. He has the normal 13 year old issues--kids at school picking on him, trying to figure out who he is, not a child yet not quite an adult, trying to fit in and stand out all at the same time, hormonal changes. And to top it all off, he's the oldest. So he's trying to navigate all of this while WE try to navigate all of this, for the first time, with our first born.

My heart hurts for him. He is such an amazing kid. He's kind, helpful, outgoing, creative, structured, precise, loving, and giving. He's an awesome big brother, most of the time. He has great ideas and a huge heart and I love him more than words can begin to describe. So my heart hurts for him when I see him going through the exact same things I did at 13. He can't see past the here and now. He can't fully understand that it's okay to be yourself and that it doesn't matter AT ALL what other people think or say. He doesn't yet have the self-confidence to stand on his own two feet against the world, even on the small scale of middle school. I can't fight this battle for him. We are no longer at a point where Mommy can rush in, scoop him up, kiss his boo-boos and make it all better.

So instead I get to love him, encourage him, be patient with him. Even as he lashes out in anger and frustration at me, his dad, his siblings--I have to extend grace, knowing that it comes from a deeper place, a hurting place. It comes from growing up.

I am so amazed at the young man he is becoming. He's so thoughtful, so willing to give of himself. He's incredibly smart and already stands taller than me. He's no longer a child, but he will always be my baby, the child who made me a mom for the first time. So I do all that I can do myself. Then I turn to the One who loves my son more than I could ever comprehend, the One who can help him, heal him and make him whole. My Jesus. And I trust Him to do the things I cannot do myself. I trust Him with my son.

I believe when we hurt for our children, we are, quite possibly, as close as we could be to understanding the love of God. We are His children, after all. He loves us so much more than we realize, He hurts so much deeper as He watches us struggle. He sees our pain, our doubts, our fears, our failure. Yet He allows us to learn, to grow, to become the men and women He created us to be through these experiences--all the while loving, guiding, encouraging us and being patient with us. He extends His grace, because He knows that our sinful nature thrives on the hurt found deep within us. And He patiently waits, comforting us in our struggles, until the day we turn to Him, trust Him, and allow Him to heal us and make us whole.

Just some food for thought.