“Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God’s will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect.” Romans 2:12

Tearful Talk

I plopped down next to my oldest son, Keenan as he rested his achy joints. A battle with arthritis had significantly affected his young body. Often he needed to stretch out because sitting exacerbates his pain. “You all right, Bud?” I asked with warm eyes. “Yes, I’m just stretching.” I pulled a blanket over my legs, as a cool breeze floated through an open window.

“You okay, mom?” he asked as he sensed my melancholy. “Yea, I’m okay, just a little sad that we have to leave again. You know this part is hard for me. When you were little I never imagined our family would be spread across the country like this,” I whispered, as warm tears rolled down my cheeks.

With the wisdom of a first-born he said, “I’m sorry this is hard for you, mom, but maybe it won’t be this way forever. It’s the season in life where the kids are venturing out. We’re learning independence. It’s good for us. Maybe one day we will all live closer.” I blew my nose again and hoped what he said would come true.

I never thought what our family would look like once the kids were grown. Perhaps I was in denial? I never thought about the future beyond their growing up years. I assumed we would all live somewhere in Minnesota, our home state. Yet, here we are, with five grown kids, spread out in Illinois, Minnesota, Missouri, Iowa and soon to be Utah. One child will be nineteen hours away.

I honestly didn’t see that coming. Perhaps you’re like me and wonder how we ended up with so much physical distance between our kids? Maybe you carry a different expectation that didn’t quite go the way you imagined. Are you shocked by it, too?

What do we do with our collective grief? How do we release expectations and come to a beautiful place of acceptance? Where is God in all of this? Does He even care about us?

The Big Book for recovery says this about expectations: “Expectations are premeditated resentments.” Ouch, momma, that one hurts, doesn’t it? We have a choice to make when it comes to our adult kids. We can require them to meet our expectations, thus making them miserable and bound, or we can lean into God’s loving hand and receive the grace to let go and accept the changes.

I cringe a little when I hear mommas say, “My kids will never leave me.” I do not believe we have the right to say such a thing. Our children are not made to meet our expectations. They are called by God to build their own lives.

What can we do to lean into God as we unravel the emotional overwhelm of releasing expectations? How do we actually lay them down? How do we quiet the demands of our selfish hearts?

“Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” Hebrews 4:16

A Realization

She slowly guided the delicate bridal gown over her long frame, moving as if it were a fragile china cup. The dress fit her perfectly, enhancing her natural beauty. The cathedral length veil held the drama she had hoped for, and I thought my heart might explode when I saw the joy captured on her face. This was going to be a day to remember, as Rebekah and Ryan became husband and wife.

A lump formed in my throat as my chest grew tight, and I didn’t hold back the bittersweet tears. Though I was thrilled she was marrying Ryan, I realized she wasn’t mine anymore. From this day forward, our relationship would be different.

Rebekah and I shared a deep bond; talking was “our thing.” We shared coffee dates with meaningful conversation. She prattled on about her friends, her struggles, and her beau. We chatted every Sunday for the four years she was away at college. We laughed hysterically as she regaled her adventures at university, and we cried together when she was overwhelmed and lonely.

I prayed for her as she drove those seven hours, either to campus or back home, all alone, checking my phone app often to make sure she was safe. I wondered, was it even wise to allow a young woman to travel alone, for such a long distance?

The day we dropped her at the far-away place, we sat through the welcome service at her Christian college and tears rolled down our cheeks. I scrounged through my purse, digging for more tissues as waves of unexpected grief crashed through our morning. We wept through the service, wiping away tears with our lunch napkins, mostly trying to avert the gaze of onlookers, and we bawled as we drove away leaving our baby, to figure it all out, alone. It was a melancholy seven-hour ride home. I’ll never forget the look on her fragile face as we drove away. She seemed much too young to be in this big world by herself, in a place where she had no one to cling to.

How would we ever get used to the distance between us? What was I going to do without Rebekah? Within the first semester, she wasn’t sure she would survive her new world. Between the drama with a friend group, annoyance with a roommate, and a longing for the familiar, she persevered through the usual growing pains of college.

Rebekah got braver and more involved, and tried new things, as she began to grow. She ventured away from home and discovered who she was, developing her strengths as a leader and learning significant life lessons in this protected community. During her sophomore year, our girl reconnected with Ryan, whom she had met at church camp when they were fourteen and sixteen, and they fell in love.

I dreamed of having grown kids nearby; we would have coffee dates and family dinners, and sleepovers with grandkids and “cousin camp” would be part of our routine. High hopes and expectations ruled my days, but my dream of having this one near was not to be.

Fast forward to her wedding day, my dreams shattered as reality dawned, she had built a life with Ryan, far away, and it hurt. My vision of having her near was gone as they began their professional careers, bought a house, and a dog, 437 excruciatingly long miles away from me.

What’s a midlife mom to do with a heart full of expectations for her kids? How in the world does she shift from this leading role in her child’s life to a supportive role where her adult child is now free to make their own choices?

“Filled with love and compassion, he ran to his son, embraced him, and kissed him.”-Luke 15:20

An Invitation to Love

Angela struggled as she watched her daughter, Jessica, walk away from the faith of her youth. Maybe it’s not so much that she walked away, as she added fresh perspectives on faith. Away from family, she was free to hear new ideas on religion, culture, and belief systems. A secular world view was presented in the college classrooms. Belief in God was scoffed at by her professors. Jessica loved God, but doubts clouded her decisions. The familiar voice of the Tempter rang in her ears, “Did God really say that?”

College life offered freedom from the restrictions and rules of her youth. Independence and free thinking wooed her away from God.

These changes alarmed Angela, but she pressed in and focused on God. One day as she sat with her Maker, in prayer, He gave her a profound revelation. She thought, “just because my daughter is making different choices, does not permit us from being close. I’m still free to love her deeply, and give the rest to God. Only the Holy Spirit can convict, convince, or teach her. My role, in that sense, is over. It is not my job anymore, now that she is an adult. My most significant job is to love her well.”

This fresh understanding buoyed Angela. It took away the feelings of shame and regret, like she had somehow parented her daughter wrong. Shame no longer plagued her, and she was free to maintain a close bond with her daughter. Worry was replaced with peace, and Angela surrendered her daughter to God, trusting His activity in Jessica’s life. All pressure was removed and devotion flowed easily,

Midlife momma, we might experience this with our adult children. They will walk away from their faith, and we will need to figure out what to do. Will we be embittered and judgmental, a Pharisee of sorts, pointing out all their wrongs? Will we lead with love? Will we allow them to wrestle with their faith without fearing they come to a different conclusion than we had hoped?

How we treat this child will likely change the trajectory of their life.

Let’s take our cues from a well known story in Luke about a father and a son. Most commentators focus on the son’s behavior, but today I want to lean in and watch what the father does. The story goes like this:

The son grew weary of being home, so he asked his father for his inheritance. The father gave it, and the son went off to live life with no restraint. He did what he wanted. He was careless and reckless. He squandered his inheritance leaving himself poor and destitute, begging for food. He remembered his father and returned home.

“So he returned home to his father. And while he was still a long way off, his father saw him coming. Filled with love and compassion, he ran to his son, embraced him, and kissed him. His son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against both heaven and you, and I am no longer worthy of being called your son. But his father said to the servants, ‘Quick! Bring the finest robe in the house and put it on him. Get a ring for his finger and sandals for his feet. And kill the calf we have been fattening. We must celebrate with a feast, for this son of mine was dead and has now returned to life. He was lost, but now he is found.’ So the party began. Luke 15:20-24

“When I am afraid, I put my trust in you. In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I will not be afraid. What can flesh do to me?”-Psalm 56:3-4

Desperate Situations

I reached for my phone, as my Moriah’s name appeared on the screen. “I need to get out, mom,” she said resolutely. I sighed a prayer of relief. I rearranged my schedule and drove the four and half hours to help her pack. Thoughts rolled through my head, on the tedious drive, as I flung desperate prayers to heaven. God please, let him not be there. Please help us get her packed quickly. Please heal her broken heart. Fear and relief marched side by side in my mind.

We huddled in the closet of her loft apartment in downtown Des Moines. The concrete floors were cold beneath us, indicative of the mood, as Moriah riffled through her clothes.

Hot tears streamed down her face, as anguished cries escaped her mouth. “I’ve ruined everything. My life is one big disappointment!”

I sat beside her, heartbroken and afraid. What can I do? What should I say? These questions raced through my head as my daughter prepared to leave an unhealthy relationship. I waffled between resentment and hopefulness.

I felt satisfied with her determination to acknowledge and respond to the red flags in her relationship. But at that moment, I was certain my heart would break for her vulnerable state. “You are the bravest young woman, I know.” I choked.

I held her tight, willing her to receive some of my strength. God met us there, on the frigid floor. She may not have recognized it, in her pain, but He buoyed me, as my heart sank. I had never experienced this depth of powerlessness with my child. I doubted my skills to handle it well. I was desperate for Godly wisdom.

Oh, how I wanted to rescue and fix her all those months. We had conversations about his behavior and what it meant. Deep down, I resented him, but I simply said, “if you stay, it will be hard.” I could not tell her to leave because it was not my place. She had to realize the complexities of her situation and make her own decision. By the grace of God, she did, as courage welled within her.

Midlife momma, our children will face situations where we will want to fix and rescue. We will want to scream, “Don’t do that!” but in this phase with our kids, we must hold our tongues. This will be the season we cling to God. We will trust Him.

“The LORD is my strength and my shield; in him my heart trusts, and I am helped; my heart exults, and with my song I give thanks to him.”-Psalm 28:7

Sleepless Nights

I roll over and see the red numbers of the digital clock mocking me again. It’s 4:00am, two hours until the alarm blares. I sigh heavily, hoping to turn off the thoughts rolling through my head. Sleep isn’t my friend lately. Is it menopause or is it worry? Sometimes it’s hard to tell, but tonight I’m thinking about my grown kids. They’re all navigating hard situations while I feel overwhelmed and helpless.

Keenan has been battling an undiagnosed condition for nearly a year. He’s had countless scans, blood work, and still no answers. Every joint in his body aches, and he can barely walk. His life has been drastically affected.

Moriah desperately desires a career in her field. She’s spent months hunting for jobs, and no one will take a chance on her even with a master’s degree. She’s bright, driven, creative and hard working. Her retail management position leaves her drained and unfulfilled.

Caleb is wrestling with future plans. Should he and his new bride move across the country? But, then they’ll be starting over and far from family. They need clarity for the right decision.

Rebekah holds a taxing university job and is pursuing her masters degree. Her husband works for a large church that is understaffed. They have little margin in their days and are pushed to exhaustion.

Keziah is newly married and navigating that along with a demanding role in a college ministry, a part time job, and finishing up her undergrad degree in May.

So, I toss and turn, fretting and frustrated. I can’t change anything. I am powerless to help them, but there’s one thing I can do. I can entrust them to my powerful King.

I roll out of bed and head to the quiet place. Bible in hand and a pile of snotty tissues, I pray to my trustworthy God. I recount His promises and let go, again. I exchange my fear for His confidence. I lay the burdens down as I allow my heart to trust Him.

There was a mom who was really tired. BEYOND TIRED.

She was counting down the hours to “end” her active parenting.

It had been every day for 25++ years.

She found herself sitting on the floor, covered in empty boxes, about to sleep on a futon that had been through her three other college kids and was now gracing the dorm room of her baby.

She couldn’t believe she was finally here.

But she knew why she was absolutely exhausted. Who wouldn’t be?

She lay awake thinking about ALL.THE.THINGS.

ALL. THE. THINGS.

*Q-tips covered in alcohol carefully for 10 days on each of four babies’ umbilical cords until that gross thing turned black and fell off

*Shopping with four children under seven (it was like taking four goats to the store…I “kid” you not…get it? get it? I “kid” you not)

*Sorting legos into bags by color, size and type at least 52 times (to be exact)

Playing Ms. PacMan on Nintendo 64 surrounded by eight excited eyes until she beat all the levels and killed the witch

*Filling out back-to-school forms until her eyes twitched and hands curled up in agony (can’t this be computerized school board?)

*Packing 180 (# of days in a school year) X 4 (# of kids in her house) X 13 (# of school years) lunches (equals 9,360)

*Chore charts, memory verse charts, learn-to-pee-and-poop-on-the-potty charts, and behavior charts, all complete with stickers and prizes

*Watching (or at least hearing from the kitchen) ad nauseam reruns from the Disney Channel, Nick Jr., PBS, Cartoon Network and Netflix

The “First Lasts”

As the door rolled up, I held my breath, anxiously watching as the team surged onto the field, a sea of black and gold taking their places for warm-ups in the state semi-final football game. With each jumping jack and stretch, I tried to prepare myself for the game, knowing this could be the last one--but hoping it wouldn’t be. It was our high school’s first appearance in a semi-final game in 14 years--and it was my son’s senior season. My husband and I could not have been more proud.

The beginning of the football season a few months ago officially ushered in the season of “last firsts,” and was the trigger that brought me face to face with the reality that my time with our son in our home is quickly slipping away. The last first game of the season. The last time I would watch him warm up with his teammates. The last time my son would play at his high school stadium. Ever. As the momentum shifted early in the second half of the semi-final game, it became clear this would be the final game of his high school football career.

At home that night, we wrapped him in a big hug in our living room while he fought back emotion and confessed, “I wasn’t ready for it to be over.” Acknowledging time, and an era, passing that he now understood would never return. In my mind I thought, me neither, son. And I wasn’t just thinking about football. His words perfectly captured my feelings about the season we find ourselves in.

“A wise man will hear and increase in learning.” -Proverbs 1:5

Quiet Conversations

It was late at night as we gathered as a family after Keziah and Forrest’s wedding rehearsal dinner. The room was buzzing with conversation and laughter, as Keenan, our oldest son, pulled me aside and wanted to talk. Keenan’s not one for small talk and neither am I. I love to get to the heart of the matter in our conversations. We’re not afraid to be honest and vulnerable with each other. Usually our conversations involve tears because that’s how we’re wired. We sat on the kitchen stools as he started the conversation. He was animated and passionate because that’s his personality.

I didn’t agree with everything he said, but I knew the greatest gift I could give him in this moment was my undivided attention and a listening ear. I leaned in and looked him in the eye, and I saw nothing but love and compassion. I tuned out the rest of the family because this was important to him, and I wanted him to know it was important to me too.

As he spoke, I proposed in my heart to listen for understanding. I wanted to hear beyond the words to the message between the lines. I wanted to comprehend his heart. I was going to set aside my agenda, my opinion, and truly hear him.

He gave me the opportunity to share my heart too. But I did it with humility, relying on the power of God. I walked away from the conversation knowing I had heard him and validated his opinion. I leaned in, was present, and truly heard where he was at. I felt like the right thing to do.

Listen With Restraint

Listening doesn’t have to be a grin and bear it exercise, as you grit your teeth in frustration. Listening is a gift of love, an act of surrender, and a partnership with the Divine, even when your relationship with your adult child is complicated and messy. Especially when what you are hearing is different from what you believe or agree with.

Listening well communicates compassion, validation, and empathy. Paying attention is the one benefit we can freely give. It’s an opportunity for grace to flow.

“Understand this, my dear brothers and sisters; You must all be quick to listen slow to speak and slow to get angry.”- James 1:19

Hard Conversations

I could feel the tension in the air as we walked and talked that hot summer day. Caleb had reluctantly joined the family for a few days at our annual trip to Family Camp. I felt the resistance, and I could see the pain on his face.

This was the last place he wanted to be. He didn’t want to be boxed in by God or the church. I knew he had been wrestling with God for a few years. He was filled with doubts and probably some anger towards the church. I don’t think being a Pastor’s kid was an easy thing for him. He was now a college student and free to make his own choices, and he had picked up some new views about the world.

I asked him about his dad’s healing. “How do you explain dad’s miraculous healing from multiple sclerosis?” He looked at the ground, as we walked and said, “Science has proven the body can regenerate itself.” It felt like someone punched me in the gut! I avoided his gaze and tried to muster all the restraint I could and said, “Oh, it can, can it?” My comment was laced with sarcasm and bitterness. And that was the end of our conversation. I walked away dejected and fearful, and he left the conversation feeling frustrated. I’d blown it, for sure, when it came to listening.

A Listening Ear

As we enter this unfamiliar, supportive role in parenting our adult children, one of the greatest gifts we can give them is a listening ear. In the past we wanted to correct, instruct, and train, but those days are behind us. This is a new season which requires new skills.

“Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me.”-Psalm 51:10

The Voice of Shame

I don’t want to face it. I’d rather hide from it, but today I’m smacked with my shame. She cuts with her remarks.

You are a failure!

You couldn’t even pray well enough for your kids!

You really messed it up, mom!

What kind of Christian are you?

I sat in a puddle of tears again, wishing, hoping, praying my child wasn’t walking away from God. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. This isn’t the vision I had for our family.

The Holy Spirit gently whispers in my thoughts, “This isn’t about your child. I hold your child. What I want to talk about today is your heart. Let’s look at why you feel shame. It’s more about you than them.”

Honestly, facing the condition of my heart wasn’t something I wanted to do.

Wouldn't it be easier to focus on how they had let me down?

God graciously revealed areas of pride, judgement, and criticism I had allowed to grow in my heart surrounding this child. He led me to understand my expectations were harming this child. While the enemy wanted to beat me down with shame, the Holy Spirit wanted to grow me. He lovingly revealed how my motives were the things hurting this child. This was the beginning of my letting go and I didn’t experience humiliation nearly as often.

“Therefore encourage one another and build one another up, just as you are doing.”- 1 Thessolonians 5:11

Honest Conversations

We gather on a spring Saturday morning at church for a Women’s Bring Your Own Breakfast event. Many in the room are middle aged moms like me, sporting their comfy Saturday clothes. We make our way around the table and share a little about ourselves. Normally I don’t prepare anything formal for these events but today I feel led to open a discussion about our grown kids.

Gingerly, I reveal how some of my kids are far from their Maker. I’m buoyed by the strength God has given me these past fourteen years. What once would have been a discussion leaving me in tears, now feels like an invitation to my greatest calling. God has been faithful to minister to my heart this past decade, and now He is asking me to share what I’ve learned.

One by one women open up about the heartache of watching their adult child walk away from God. Tears flow and knowing glances are shared. Hopelessness and shame abound. But this morning is an opportunity to extend warmth and grace. There’s a holy hush as women share their pain.

One burdened mom says, “It feels so good to talk about it. I’ve felt so alone in this. I thought I was the only one.” I see the relief on her face and a glimmer of hope in her eyes for the first time. I want to hug her close and tell her God will help her through because our Maker loves her child even more than she does.

We Need Each Other

There’s power in being in a room where grace-filled understanding and compassion are extended. We need each other!

I’m making it my mission to normalize these conversations so moms don’t have to hide in shame anymore or live years of self-loathing because they’ve somehow ruined their child’s life.

One of the most powerful tactics the enemy uses in our lives is silence and isolation. He convinces us to keep our mouths shut as we walk through this pain. We’re left feeling like we’re the only one going through this heartache. We scroll on social media assuming every other mom our age has navigated this transition well. We compare and criticize ourselves again.

We’re filled with questions, doubts, and “if only.” We feel less than, depleted and afraid. In our isolation we are only left with our perspective, which is usually faulty. We spiral downwards and wonder why God seems so far off.

“But now, O Jacob, listen to the Lord who created you. O Israel, the who formed you says, ‘Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you; I have called you by name. You are mine.” - Isaiah 43:1

Can We Talk?

I recognized the name in my direct messages from decades ago. We met through mutual friends and had kids of similar ages. Anna reached out wanting to know if we could talk. I sent her a message welcoming a conversation.

I heard the heaviness in her voice as she held back tears. “I love my adult kids so much, and we have a great relationship, but I see changes in my son and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to mess this up,” she says. Her adult son was raised in the church and went to a Christian college, and now his lifestyle is completely anti-God, and he told her he no longer believes in God.

“I feel like such a failure,” she cried. “I remember feeling like that, too,” I sighed. “I didn’t know who to talk to about it. I can’t talk to people at church because they’ll judge me. I’m so worried I’m going to do something wrong to damage our relationship, and I don't want to do that,” she said. “I didn’t know where to turn, and I thought of you,” she said. We chatted for thirty minutes as she poured out her heartache. I silently whispered a prayer of thanks for God sent her my way. We need each other. I listened and encouraged as she felt relieved to talk about it.

The Forgotten Moms

We have an army of forgotten moms trying to navigate their changing roles with their adult children, and they are filled with shame and don’t know where to turn. They suffer in silence assuming they’ve completely ruined their kids. They carry grief and emotional overwhelm.