Somewhere along the way, she stopped needing me to hold her hand as we walked in the parking lot. Somewhere along the way, he stopped needing me to read him stories before bed. She stopped needing me to wash her hair with the raspberry scented shampoo. He stopped needing me to tie his shoelaces. They don’t need me to choose their clothes or feed them or brush their teeth for them. At least not anymore.
My kids are growing up. And with it comes the inevitable — they need me less and less in their lives.
I should be relieved. This is what I wanted, right? The independence, the freedom, finally being able to do what I want to do?
Maybe not.
Somewhere along the way, I got used to being needed. It became my identity — and my idol. I realized that I need to be needed.
Now, those of you who know me personally are probably thinking: what’s she talking about? Her kids are tiny.
That’s true. Somewhat. While I’m far from being an empty nester, this mom thing changes in the blink of an eye. One moment you’re looking into the startled eyes of a wailing newborn and the next minute your kid is like, “Don’t kiss me in front of my friends.”
Yup, letting go is hard. But I’m learning to loosen my white-knuckle grip on my kids — and release them to God.
Somehow, in my mind, I’d subscribed to this idiotic notion that I could protect them from all harm. That I could be their sufficiency. That I could create a perfect storybook world for them. But then came my lightbulb moment: My kids don’t need me. They need God.
And they have the freedom to find God only when I let go and let them discover Him for themselves.
I’m slowly overcoming my need to hold on to them — so they have the chance to fall into the arms of the One who won’t ever let go.