There are few things that break a mother’s heart more than watching her adult child walk away from the faith she worked so hard to pass on.

You prayed for that child before they were born. You rocked them to sleep singing worship songs. You drove them to church, youth group, and Bible studies. You asked God to protect their heart and guide their future. And now they want nothing to do with the faith that once shaped their life.

When this happens, heartbreak isn’t the only emotion that shows up. Self-condemnation creeps in. What did I do wrong?  Fear takes hold. What will become of them?

Before long, our posture toward our child begins to change. We slip into fix-it mode. We scrutinize their decisions. Conversations feel tense and loaded. We may grow critical, guarded, or quietly resentful. Bitterness can begin to replace the tenderness we once felt so naturally.

It’s understandable. A wounded heart often tries to protect itself. But what if this response pulls us further away from the kind of love our child needs most?

What is a mom to do when the very thing she prayed would never happen actually happens?

You dedicated that child to the Lord. You rocked them to sleep singing worship songs and drove them to youth group. You prayed over their friendships, their future spouse, and their faith.

And now they have turned away.

In the quiet of your own heart, heartbreak is not the only thing you feel. Shame slips in and whispers that you had one job and somehow you failed.

This is the kind of pain that steals sleep. The kind that makes you avoid certain conversations at church. The kind that keeps you smiling on the outside while unraveling on the inside. Because if people really knew, they might quietly decide it was your fault.

So you suffer in silence.

In our younger years, many of us carried a quiet ache in our faith. We felt behind, frustrated, or even condemned by our lack of discipline, devotion, or desire. We wondered if something was wrong with us. Were our longings selfish? Were we immature because we didn’t always crave long hours in the Word the way other women seemed to?

I’ll never forget the night I babysat newborn Wren so her parents, my daughter Keziah and her husband Forrest, could sneak away for a quiet dinner. Before they left, Keziah nursed her, and I gently swaddled that sweet baby and laid her on her side in the cozy Moses basket beside me on the couch. I couldn’t take my eyes off her tiny pug nose, that silky dark hair; she looked so much like her momma.