When Motherhood Does Not Come the Way You Imagined

Scripture:

“The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart.” — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV)

There are some losses that do not come with a funeral.

No obituary.

No gathering of people bringing food.

Sometimes there is only a woman sitting quietly with the knowledge that the child she hoped to hold will not be in her arms.

I know something about that grief.

I had several miscarriages.

Even now, I can remember what it felt like to hope, to imagine, to wonder who that little person might become—and then to have that hope disappear.

Pregnancy loss can be difficult to explain because sometimes the rest of the world moves on much faster than your heart does.

People may not know what to say.

Some say nothing.

Others try to make you feel better.

“At least you can try again.”

“Everything happens for a reason.”

“Maybe it just was not meant to be.”

Usually people mean well.

But sometimes what a grieving woman needs most is not an explanation.

She needs permission to grieve.

Because you are not only grieving a pregnancy.

You may be grieving the baby you imagined holding.

The name you were considering.

The birthday you calculated.

The little face you wondered about.

The child you had already begun making room for in your heart.

And for some women, the grief becomes even deeper when they realize that biological motherhood may never happen.

That can hurt.

Deeply.

Especially in a world where women are frequently asked:

“When are you going to have a baby?”

“Do you have children?”

“Are you going to try for another one?”

Sometimes people do not realize how much history can be sitting behind a very simple question.

Mother’s Day can hurt.

Pregnancy announcements can hurt.

Baby showers can be both joyful and painful.

You can genuinely celebrate someone else while quietly grieving something you wanted for yourself.

Those feelings can exist in the same heart.

But something else I have learned is that motherhood does not always arrive the way we imagined it would.

For some women, it comes through pregnancy.

For some, through adoption.

For some, fostering.

For others, it may look like helping raise a niece, nephew or grandchild.

Sometimes it is mentoring a young woman who needs someone steady in her life.

Sometimes it is becoming the woman a child calls when she needs advice, prayer, encouragement—or simply a safe place to land.

And sometimes a woman may never have a child of her own at all.

Her life is not therefore empty.

Her womanhood is not incomplete.

And her capacity to nurture, teach, protect, encourage and love is not determined by whether her body was able to give birth.

For me, adoption became part of my story.

But adoption did not erase my miscarriages.

Becoming a mother another way did not mean those babies never mattered.

That distinction is important.

Gratitude does not cancel grief.

And grief does not mean you are ungrateful for the life you have now.

I can be profoundly grateful for the daughter God placed in my life and still acknowledge that there were children I once hoped to carry and raise.

Both are part of my story.

Maybe they are part of yours too.

I wonder how many women we sit beside at church, work with, laugh with, or pass in the grocery store who have quietly carried this kind of grief.

Women who have smiled through baby showers.

Women who have answered uncomfortable questions graciously.

Women who have stood in a Mother’s Day service wondering whether there was a place for them.

Women who have wondered whether something important about being a woman passed them by.

If that is you, I hope you hear this:

Your ability to pour life into someone is bigger than your ability to give birth to someone.

You can pour courage into a child.

You can make someone feel safe.

You can teach.

You can nurture.

You can advocate.

You can listen.

You can show up.

You can love.

And none of that requires us to pretend that the loss did not hurt.

There is room for both.

There is room to say:

I wanted that baby.

I grieved that baby.

I wish my story had been different.

And there is also room to ask:

God, what can love look like through me now?

Not as a replacement.

Not as a way of pretending the loss never happened.

But as another chapter.

Sometimes motherhood comes through the body.

Sometimes it comes through adoption.

Sometimes it comes through an open front door, an extra chair at the table, a phone call from a young person who trusts you, or years of faithfully showing up in someone’s life.

And sometimes the most mothering thing a woman can do is simply become a safe place for another human being.

The path may not look anything like the one you pictured when you were younger.

Mine did not.

But I am learning that a life can hold grief and gratitude, loss and love, what might have been and what God is doing now.

One does not have to erase the other.

Maybe today is simply a MOMENT to remember the women whose motherhood stories came with tears.

And to remind them:

You are seen.
Your losses mattered.
Your love matters.
And your story is still a story worth honoring.

Just wondering…who has mothered, nurtured, guided or poured into your life in a way you will never forget?

Every MOMENT Matters.

Love,
Monica
MOMENTMOMS.org

🌸 When You and Your Spouse Keep Having the Same Argument

“Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another…” — Ephesians 4:32

There are some arguments in marriage that seem to have remarkable staying power.

You can have the conversation on Tuesday, think it is finally settled, and somehow find yourselves right back in the same place two weeks later.

Maybe it is money.

The children.

Household responsibilities.

How much time one of you spends working.

Family boundaries.

Communication.

Something that happened years ago that still finds its way into present-day disagreements.

Sometimes you can recognize the argument almost as soon as it begins.

Here we go again.

And that can be exhausting.

Because eventually you are not only frustrated about the issue.

You are frustrated that you are still having to talk about the issue.

You may start wondering:

Why does he not understand what I am saying?

Why do I have to keep explaining this?

Why does this always turn into the same argument?

And I imagine there are times when he is wondering something very similar about you.

Marriage has a way of putting two people with different histories, habits, personalities, expectations, wounds, and communication styles under the same roof and asking them to build one life together.

That can be beautiful.

It can also be hard.

Sometimes the disagreement on the surface is not actually the deepest issue.

The argument may be about money, but underneath it someone feels insecure.

It may be about chores, but underneath it someone feels unappreciated.

It may be about how much time you spend together, but underneath it someone feels lonely.

It may be about an in-law, but underneath it someone feels unsupported.

Sometimes we keep arguing about the same thing because we have not yet understood what the other person is really trying to say.

And when we are tired, hurt, or already feeling defensive, listening becomes even harder.

We begin preparing our response while the other person is still talking.

We remember every other time this happened.

We reach into the past for evidence.

And before long, a conversation about one issue becomes a trial where both people are presenting exhibits.

That usually does not bring anyone closer.

Ephesians 4 reminds us to make room for kindness, tenderness, and forgiveness.

That does not mean pretending a problem does not exist.

It does not mean swallowing your feelings to keep the peace.

And it certainly does not mean that one spouse should be responsible for fixing everything.

Sometimes love looks like having the difficult conversation.

But perhaps the goal does not always have to be:

Who is right?

Maybe another question is:

What would help us understand each other better this time?

That small shift can change a conversation.

Maybe you need to stop talking for ten minutes before words become cruel.

Maybe you need to say, “I think we are starting the same argument again. Can we slow this down?”

Maybe you need to listen long enough to hear the feeling underneath the complaint.

Maybe there is something you genuinely need to apologize for.

Maybe your spouse does too.

And sometimes the issue may be bigger than what the two of you can untangle alone. Asking a trusted pastor, counselor, or marriage professional for help is not an admission that your marriage has failed. Sometimes it is simply deciding that the relationship matters enough to learn a different way forward.

One thing I have learned about relationships is that repeating the same argument does not necessarily mean there is no love left.

Sometimes it means there is something important that still needs attention.

Something still needs to be heard.

Something still needs to heal.

And perhaps instead of asking God only to change our spouse, there are moments when the prayer becomes:

Lord, show me what You want to change in the way I enter this conversation.

Not because everything is your responsibility.

But because your response is the part you can bring before God.

You may not resolve years of frustration tonight.

But you can choose not to add another wound to it.

You can speak a little softer.

Listen a little longer.

Pray before responding.

And remember that the person sitting across from you is not supposed to be your opponent.

This is someone you once chose.

Someone you still share a life with.

Someone who may be carrying hurts and fears that sound very different when they come out as frustration.

The same argument does not have to keep producing the same ending.

With grace, honesty, humility, and sometimes outside help, a different conversation is still possible.

A MOMENT to Reflect

Before your next difficult conversation, ask yourself:

What do I really want my spouse to understand—not simply what do I want him to admit?

That answer may help you say what is actually on your heart.

A MOMENT Prayer

Father,

You know the places in our marriage where we keep getting stuck.

You know the words we have repeated, the feelings underneath them, and the hurts we do not always know how to explain.

Help me listen without preparing my defense.

Help me speak honestly without being hurtful.

Show me where I need humility, where I need courage, and where I need to extend grace.

Help us remember that we are not enemies trying to win an argument.

We are two imperfect people who still need Your help loving each other well.

Bring wisdom to what we cannot seem to resolve and peace to our home.

Amen.

🌸 A MOMENT to Carry With You

You do not have to keep having the same conversation in the same way.

Sometimes healing begins when just one part of the pattern changes.

❤️ Every MOMENT Matters.

— Monica Lynne Wilkins
MOMENT Moms™
MOMENTMoms.org

🌸When Your Teenager’s Attitude Hits a Nerve

“So then, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath.” — James 1:19

There are moments in parenting when it is not even what your teenager says.

It is the way they say it.

The sigh.

The eye roll.

The one-word answer.

The tone that seems to say, Why are you even talking to me?

And before you know it, something inside you has been hit.

You may have started the conversation calmly.

Then came the attitude.

And suddenly you are no longer responding only to what happened in that moment. You are responding to the disrespect you felt, the exhaustion you are carrying, the three other things you already asked them to do, and perhaps the thought:

After everything I do for you, why are you talking to me like this?

Teenagers can push buttons they did not even know existed.

And sometimes they know exactly where the buttons are.

But there is something I have had to remind myself about parenting:

I do not have to respond to every moment at the same intensity that it arrives.

Sometimes the wisest thing I can do is not answer immediately.

Not because the behavior is acceptable.

Not because disrespect should be ignored.

But because correction usually goes better when I am responding instead of reacting.

James tells us to be “swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath.”

That is hard when someone has just spoken to you in a way you would never allow from another adult.

But teenagers are still learning.

They are learning how to manage emotions.

How to express frustration.

How to disagree.

How to become independent without treating the people who love them as though they are the enemy.

And while they are learning how to become adults, we are learning something too.

We are learning how to parent a child who is no longer little.

The child who once told you everything may now close the bedroom door.

The child who once wanted your opinion may suddenly seem irritated that you have one.

The child who needed you for almost everything is beginning to push toward a life that will eventually require much less of your supervision.

That change can feel personal even when it is part of growing up.

Still, grace does not mean there are no boundaries.

You can say:

“I want to hear what you have to say, but I am not going to continue this conversation while we are speaking to each other this way.”

You can correct the behavior without attacking the person.

You can address the tone without saying things you will wish you could take back later.

You can take a few minutes and come back to the conversation.

And when you get it wrong—and every parent eventually does—you can apologize.

An apology does not weaken your authority.

Sometimes it teaches your child more about maturity than another lecture ever could.

There will be moments when your teenager needs correction.

There will also be moments when what looks like attitude is covering something else.

Embarrassment.

Pressure.

Friendship problems.

School stress.

Feeling misunderstood.

Trying to figure out where they fit.

None of that makes disrespect acceptable.

But sometimes asking one more question before giving one more speech changes the entire conversation.

“Are you okay?”

“Did something happen today?”

“Do you want to tell me what is really bothering you?”

You may not always get an answer.

But you have opened a door.

And sometimes parenting a teenager is a lot of door-opening.

You correct.

You pray.

You listen.

You set boundaries.

You try again tomorrow.

And you trust that God is working in a child whose story is still being written.

A MOMENT to Reflect

When my teenager’s attitude gets under my skin, what do I want her to learn from the way I respond?

Not just what do I want her to stop doing.

What do I want her to see in me?

A MOMENT Prayer

Father,

You know how deeply I love my child, and You also know the moments when parenting stretches my patience.

Help me slow down before I say something I cannot take back.

Give me wisdom to know when to correct, when to listen, when to wait, and when to ask another question.

Help me address behavior without wounding the heart of the child You have entrusted to me.

And when I get it wrong, give me humility to make it right.

Please keep shaping both of us.

Amen.

🌸 A MOMENT to Carry With You

One difficult conversation does not define your relationship.

You can correct what needs correcting and still leave room for grace.

❤️ Every MOMENT Matters.

— Monica Lynne Wilkins
MOMENT Moms™
MOMENTMoms.org

🌸 When You Are Caring for Aging Parents and the Roles Begin to Reverse

“Even to your old age, I am He,
And even to gray hairs I will carry you!” — Isaiah 46:4

There is a strange tenderness that comes with realizing your parents are getting older.

For much of your life, they were the ones who knew what to do.

They drove you where you needed to go. They reminded you about appointments. They worried when you were sick. They made decisions, handled problems, and somehow seemed capable of taking care of things you did not even know needed taking care of.

And then, little by little, something changes.

Now you are the one asking, “Did you take your medicine?”

You are driving to the appointment.

You are listening carefully while the doctor speaks.

You are checking the refrigerator, paying attention to the mail, asking about bills, noticing the stairs, watching how they walk, and wondering whether they should still be driving.

Sometimes the change happens gradually.

Sometimes one illness, fall, hospitalization, or diagnosis changes everything almost overnight.

And suddenly you are making decisions for the person who once made decisions for you.

That can be hard on the heart.

Because this is still Mom.

This is still Dad.

You may know that something needs to change while also understanding why they resist it.

They have spent decades making their own choices. They may not want to be reminded that they need help.

And you may not want to be the one telling them.

There can be moments of frustration.

Repeated conversations.

Questions you thought had already been answered.

Appointments they do not want to attend.

Help they insist they do not need.

And underneath your frustration may be something you have not said aloud:

I do not want to lose you.

Sometimes caregiving is not only physically tiring. It carries a quiet kind of grief.

You are watching someone you love change.

You may miss the parent who used to give you advice.

You may wish you could call Mom and have her take care of something for you again.

You may sit with your father and realize that the man who once seemed so strong now needs your arm to steady himself.

Those moments can catch you off guard.

And there may also be guilt.

Guilt because you are tired.

Guilt because you became impatient.

Guilt because part of you wishes someone else would handle the next appointment.

Guilt because you have your own family, work, health, responsibilities, and life that still need your attention.

But loving your parents does not mean you stop being human.

You can be grateful that they are still here and still feel overwhelmed by what caring for them requires.

You can honor them and still need help.

You can love them deeply and still need boundaries.

And you will not make every decision perfectly.

One of the things I love about Isaiah 46:4 is that God does not only speak about the strength we need to carry someone else.

He says:

“I will carry you.”

That promise belongs to your aging parent.

But it belongs to you too.

While you are trying to carry medications, appointments, decisions, worry, responsibilities, and the changing needs of someone you love, God is reminding you:

You are not the only one carrying this family.

He is still God to your mother.

He is still God to your father.

And He is still God to you.

You do not have to know how the entire season will unfold.

You only need grace for the part in front of you today.

A MOMENT to Reflect

What part of caring for your parent feels heaviest right now?

You do not have to solve it in this moment.

Just tell God the truth about it.

A MOMENT Prayer

Father,

Thank You for the people who once cared for me.

It is difficult sometimes to watch them grow older and to realize how much has changed.

Give me patience when I am tired.

Give me wisdom when decisions are difficult.

Help me honor my parent while also recognizing my own limits.

And when I begin to feel as though everything depends on me, remind me that it does not.

You love them even more than I do.

Carry them.

And Father, please carry me too.

Amen.

🌸 A MOMENT to Carry With You

You may be caring for the person who once cared for you.

But you are not carrying this season alone.

❤️ Every MOMENT Matters.

— Monica Lynne Wilkins
MOMENT Moms™
MOMENTMoms.org

🌸 A Moment For the Caregiver

“Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” — Matthew 11:28

Caregiving can be an act of deep love.

It can also be exhausting.

Sometimes it looks like sitting beside a hospital bed. Sometimes it is helping a spouse get dressed, taking a parent to another appointment, picking up prescriptions, preparing meals, answering the same question again, or simply making sure someone you love is safe.

A lot of caregiving happens where no one else sees it.

People may ask how your loved one is doing.

They may ask what the doctor said.

They may ask whether things are getting better.

But sometimes no one asks:

How are you doing?

And even when someone does ask, you may not know how to answer.

Because you love the person you are caring for.

You are grateful you can be there.

You would probably do it all over again.

And you are tired.

Those things can all be true at the same time.

You can love someone and still need a break.

You can be thankful and still feel overwhelmed.

You can be strong and still have moments when you want somebody else to make the decisions, answer the phone, prepare the meal, or sit beside the bed for a while.

That does not make you selfish.

It means you are carrying something heavy.

Jesus never asked us to pretend that heavy things are light.

He said,

“Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden…”

He already knows you are tired.

He knows about the interrupted sleep.

He knows about the worries you do not say aloud.

He knows the decisions you are trying to make.

He knows what it feels like to watch someone you love change.

And He sees the things you do that may never receive a thank-you.

Perhaps today you do not need another list of things you should be doing better.

Maybe you simply need permission to admit:

This is hard.

And maybe your prayer does not need to be long.

It can simply be:

“Lord, I need You today.”

Sometimes rest will look like sleep.

Sometimes it may look like accepting help.

Sometimes it may mean letting someone else handle one thing.

Sometimes it is sitting quietly for ten minutes without answering anybody.

And sometimes rest is simply remembering that while you are caring for someone else, God is still caring for you.

A MOMENT to Reflect

What do you need today that you have been hesitant to admit you need?

You do not have to explain it to anyone.

Just bring it honestly to God.

A MOMENT Prayer

Father,

Thank You for seeing me as I care for someone I love.

You know the parts that are beautiful, and You know the parts that are difficult.

You know when I am tired, worried, frustrated, grateful, afraid, or simply trying to make it through another day.

Help me remember that I do not have to carry everything by myself.

Give me wisdom for what needs my attention today and peace about what can wait.

And remind me that the caregiver needs care too.

Thank You for caring for me while I care for someone else.

Amen.

🌸 A MOMENT to Carry With You

You can love someone deeply and still be tired.

You can be the caregiver and still need care.

And you do not have to carry today alone.

❤️ Every MOMENT Matters.

— Monica Lynne Wilkins
MOMENT Moms™
MOMENTMoms.org

🌸 When Your Adult Child Chooses Differently

Scripture

“And above all things have fervent charity among yourselves: for charity shall cover the multitude of sins.” — 1 Peter 4:8 (KJV)

There comes a time in motherhood when advice becomes something your child can choose not to take.

That may be one of the hardest adjustments of all.

You can spend years teaching, correcting, praying, setting boundaries and trying to give your child a foundation that will help them make wise decisions.

Then one day, that child is grown.

And the decision is theirs.

They may choose a career you would not have chosen.

A relationship that concerns you.

A different way of raising their own children.

They may handle money differently.

Make decisions about where or how they live that you do not understand.

They may question things you thought were firmly settled.

They may even make choices that conflict with the faith and values you worked hard to teach them.

What does a mother do then?

Because loving an adult child is different from raising one.

There are some things a mother can no longer require.

There are consequences she cannot prevent.

There are lessons she cannot teach on her timetable.

And there are decisions she simply does not get to make anymore.

That does not mean she stops being a mother.

It means motherhood has entered a different season.

I have listened to mothers talk about this season.

Sometimes underneath the concern is fear.

What if this choice hurts my child?

Sometimes it is disappointment.

I thought she knew better.

Sometimes there is confusion.

Where did this come from?

And sometimes there is a quieter question that a mother may be almost afraid to say aloud:

Did I do something wrong?

Maybe that is one of the places where God needs to meet a mother's heart too.

Your adult child's choices are not a final report card on your motherhood.

You can teach well and your child can choose differently.

You can pray faithfully and your child can still make a mistake.

You can create a loving home and raise a child who eventually sees some things differently than you do.

Their ability to choose is part of becoming an adult.

And that leaves a mother with a different kind of work to do.

Not controlling.

Not rescuing every time life becomes uncomfortable.

Not withdrawing love to make a point.

Not turning every conversation into another opportunity to convince them.

Sometimes the work is learning how to remain close without taking over.

That doesn't mean you cannot speak.

Love is not silence.

There may be moments when you need to say:

“I love you. I don't agree with this decision, and I want to be honest about that.”

But what happens after you say it matters too.

Can you still listen?

Can you still have dinner together?

Can you still call just to ask how the day went without bringing the decision into every conversation?

Can your child disagree with you and still know there is a place at your table?

That can be difficult when you believe they are making a mistake.

Because sometimes rescuing looks a lot like love.

Sometimes control disguises itself as concern.

And sometimes withdrawing feels like the only way to communicate how seriously we disagree.

But there is another choice.

We can give our adult children room to experience God for themselves.

God is capable of reaching them without our constant commentary.

He can convict.

He can redirect.

He can teach.

He can close doors.

He can open others.

He can use consequences.

He can send people into their lives.

And He can do something mothers sometimes struggle to do:

He can work on His timetable instead of ours.

That does not mean every choice will eventually become the choice you wanted.

Sometimes the harder surrender is accepting that your grown child may build a life that simply looks different from the one you pictured.

And you may have to ask God to show you the difference between something that is truly harmful and something that is simply different from you.

That distinction matters.

Because the goal was never to raise another version of ourselves.

It was to raise a person who would eventually stand before God with a life, a conscience, choices and a relationship with Him that are her own.

So when you are tempted to chase, control, rescue or withdraw, there may be another prayer to pray:

Father, show me how to love my child well in the life she is actually living—not only in the life I hoped she would choose.

That kind of love does not require agreement.

But it may require trust.

Not only trust in your child.

Trust in God.

🌸 The MOMENT

If your adult child has chosen differently, ask yourself:

Does my child know that my love remains even when my agreement does not?

Then bring the part you cannot control to God.

You do not have to solve your adult child's life.

You can speak truth with love.

You can maintain healthy boundaries.

You can stop rescuing.

You can keep the door open.

And you can pray.

Sometimes the most faithful thing a mother can do is entrust to God the child she can no longer lead by the hand.

🙏 A Prayer for the Mother of an Adult Child

Father, You know this child better than anyone. You know the hopes her mother carried for her, the prayers she has prayed and the things that concern her now.

Give her wisdom to know when to speak and when to listen. Show her where loving has become rescuing, where concern has become control, or where disappointment is tempting her to pull away.

Help her see her child clearly—not only through the decisions she wishes were different.

Give her courage to maintain necessary boundaries without withholding love. When she is afraid, remind her that her child is never beyond Your reach.

And when the life her child chooses looks different from the life she imagined, help her trust You with the parts of the story she cannot write.

Keep the relationship tender enough for conversation, strong enough for truth and covered in Your grace.

In Jesus' name, Amen.

MOMENT: My adult child's choices belong to her. How I love her while she makes them belongs to me.

Pause. Pray. Love without taking over.

❤️ Every MOMENT Matters.

— Monica Lynne Wilkins
MOMENT Moms™
MOMENTMoms.org

🌸 I Love My Child, but I Cannot Live Her Life

Scripture

“Trust in him at all times; ye people, pour out your heart before him: God is a refuge for us.” — Psalm 62:8 (KJV)

There was a time when so much of my child's life was mine to manage.

I decided what she ate. What time she went to bed. Where she went. Who cared for her. I scheduled appointments, talked with teachers, bought the clothes, packed what she needed and tried to anticipate problems before they became problems.

When she was little, protecting her often meant doing something.

Then children grow.

And one of the harder parts of motherhood is realizing that the job begins to change before our hearts are completely ready for it.

They have opinions we did not give them.

Friendships we did not choose.

Conversations we are not part of.

Experiences we cannot arrange.

Disappointments we cannot prevent.

Eventually, they will make decisions we would not make.

And that can be frightening when you have spent years believing that part of loving your child means keeping her safe.

I am learning that there comes a point when loving my child also means recognizing where her life begins and mine ends.

That does not mean I stop parenting.

It does not mean I become silent when she needs guidance.

It does not mean I ignore something dangerous or pretend every choice is a good one.

It means I have to remember something that motherhood can make surprisingly difficult to remember:

My child belongs to God before she belongs to me.

I can teach her.

I can pray for her.

I can set boundaries while she is under my care.

I can tell her what I have learned.

I can remind her who she is.

I can create a home where she knows she can come to me.

But I cannot believe for her.

I cannot make every decision for her.

I cannot keep every hurt from reaching her.

I cannot follow her into every room she will ever enter.

And I cannot live her life.

That last one is difficult.

Because sometimes we can see something coming.

We recognize the friendship that may hurt them.

We know what can happen when a decision is made too quickly.

We remember mistakes from our own lives and desperately want to save our children from learning certain lessons the way we had to learn them.

Everything in us wants to reach in and rearrange the pieces.

But there will be moments when our children need something from us that feels much harder than fixing:

They need us to trust God with them.

Not casually.

Not because we have run out of things to do.

But because He can go where we cannot.

God can be with my child in the classroom when I am not there.

He can sit beside her at the lunch table.

He can be present in conversations I will never hear.

He can bring conviction when my words are no longer the words she wants to hear.

He can place people in her life who reinforce what she has been taught at home.

He can protect her in ways I will never know about.

And when she makes mistakes—and she will, because she is human—God can meet her there too.

Maybe part of raising a child is slowly learning to move our hands from holding tightly to holding faithfully.

There is a difference.

Holding tightly says, I have to make sure everything turns out right.

Holding faithfully says, Father, show me what is mine to do, and help me trust You with what is not.

I think I will be learning that prayer for a long time.

Because independence does not arrive all at once.

It comes in little pieces.

The first time they don't want your help.

The first decision they make without asking you.

The first thing they would rather tell a friend.

The first time you realize they have been working something out in their own mind before bringing it to you.

And eventually, the bigger things come too.

Education.

Work.

Relationships.

Marriage.

Faith.

The direction of their lives.

A mother's love does not become smaller as her child's world becomes larger.

But our role has to make room for growth.

And maybe one of the greatest gifts we can give our children is the freedom to become the people God is calling them to be—not simply the people we imagined they would become.

That requires something from us too.

It requires knowing when to speak.

Knowing when to listen.

Knowing when to step in.

Knowing when to step back.

And knowing that stepping back does not mean stepping away.

Sometimes it simply means making room for our children to recognize God's voice for themselves.

🌸 The MOMENT

There may be something in your child's life right now that you wish you could manage for her.

Before you step in, ask God:

“Father, what is mine to do here?”

And then ask the harder question:

“What belongs to You?”

The answer may not always be comfortable.

But motherhood was never meant to make us our children's God.

It gives us the sacred responsibility of helping them know the One who is.

🙏 A Mother's Prayer

Father, thank You for trusting me with the privilege of being her mother. You know how deeply I love her. You also know the places where my love becomes worry and where my desire to protect her makes it difficult for me to loosen my grip.

Give me wisdom to know when she needs my guidance and when she needs room to grow. Help me listen before I correct, pray before I react and speak in ways that keep the door between us open.

Protect her when I cannot. Give her discernment when I am not there to advise her. Surround her with people who will encourage what is good in her. When she makes mistakes, meet her with the same grace and mercy You have given me.

And Father, when I am tempted to take responsibility for things that belong to You, remind me that You love her even more than I do.

Help me raise her with open hands.

In Jesus' name, Amen.

MOMENT: My child needs my love, my guidance and my prayers. She does not need me to live her life.

Pause. Pray. Guide. Trust God with the rest.

❤️ Every MOMENT Matters.

— Monica Lynne Wilkins
MOMENT Moms™
MOMENTMoms.org