The Grace For Mothering A Teenager

I can’t believe that I am the mother of a teenager.  Officially.

Thirteen years ago  I was twenty-two and smiling through contractions.  So excited for this new chapter of my life to begin, the one that made me a mother. 

And it was 7 pm and I thought that this baby was coming any moment.  He didn’t arrive until 3:05 am.
And by 1:30 am there was no smiling through the pain there was only screaming and pushing.

And that is so how I have lived my life.

Confident that I could handle the hard stuff until the hardest part hits you.

And then there is only screaming and the thought that no ever told me it would be this way.  So much of my life has been that, just white knuckling it through.

And on this cusp of teenager-life, I just want to stop and say, I’ve gotten a lot of this parenting stuff wrong. And mostly it was because I tried so very hard to get it exactly right.  And parenting is one of those things you will never get exactly right because it deals with human hearts and our hearts are faulty at best.

I’ve been that parent who tried to control, who tried to strong-arm, who yelled.  I’ve been that parent who thought that if I just did all the right things, then I’d get the right kids, and kids who behaved right.  I’ve been that parent who undid grace with every white-knuckle control and every blast of self righteousness, and I’ve been the parent I wish I wasn’t.

And on this cusp of teenage wilderness I now know this one thing.

I’m never going to get it exactly right.

And God, He knew that all along.
He knew that I ‘d fail and that I’d fall and that somewhere at the bottom of that parenting pit I would reach out and look up and remember….His grace.

And remember His love. And remember that I needed a Savior and I still do. Every. Day. And so do my kids. Every day.

Because we’re not perfect, mama. And neither are our kids.

They are going to fall. They are going to fail.  But when they do we know where to point them.  We point them to the bloody cross that carried and covered our shame, our failures, our falling.   
The cross where all failings are made into a future and falling down leads only up.

Where our dirt is wiped clean by the only Person who was ever spotless.  And we point them there to the foot of that cross, where the humbled come willingly, open handed, undeservingly.  And where grace flows down to those who know they need it.

And my boy-man already taller than his mama, he’s going to need some grace, because he will fall down.  And he is going to need to remember the hope that is ours in Christ when his days are dark.

And he is going to need to hold tight to that Hand that won’t ever let go of him and remember that you can never fall too far that His grace can’t grab you. 
And when I get it wrong again, when I’ve pointed the finger instead of petitioned the Father on his behalf, I pray this son has grace for me too.

And if I grab for control I pray that grace grabs me harder, gentler, grabbing my heart and forever holding me. 

And for all the times we will both fail, and cry, and scream into the pain of this life, may the gentle grace of our God keep us.

And may our falling lead us to our knees to receive His grace again.