Not long ago, my adult daughter Rachelle stood in front of a problem and said, “I don’t know what to do.”
I wish I could tell you what the problem was. Honestly, I can’t remember — that’s how small it was. The solution seemed so obvious to me that for a second I thought she was joking. She wasn’t. She stood there, genuinely stuck, afraid to move.
I was shocked. Then I was sad. Because I could see what was actually in her way, and it wasn’t the problem. It was fear — fear of choosing wrongly, of failing, of trusting her own ideas. Somewhere along the way, she had learned that trying and getting it wrong was worse than not trying at all. And I’ll be honest with you, because honesty is what this month is about: my first feeling wasn’t frustration with her. It was grief over me. I felt like I had failed her.
Here is the beauty of God’s grace, though, and one of the gifts of parenting adult children: the conversation isn’t over. We sat with the problem together. We walked through the options, what might happen with each one, what the worst realistic outcome actually was. (It was survivable.) And then I said the thing I wish I had said a thousand more times when she was younger: Think it through. Make the best choice you can. And never, never be afraid to try.
James writes, “If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him” (James 1:5). Without reproach. God does not shame the person who comes to Him saying “I don’t know.” He gives generously. But notice what wisdom is in that verse — something asked for, received, and then used. Wisdom is for deciding. And a child who has never been allowed to really decide — with real stakes and the real possibility of getting it wrong — has had no place to spend it.
We do this with the best intentions. We see the better solution instantly, so we hand it over. We see the mistake coming, so we head it off. Every rescue feels like love, and in the moment it is. But stack up eighteen years of rescues, and we may find we’ve taught a message underneath them all: you can’t handle this without me.
Problem-solving is a muscle, and it grows the way every muscle grows — under load. So here is this week’s assignment, and it’s harder than it sounds: find one real problem that belongs to your child, and let it stay theirs. The lost library book. The friend conflict. The allowance that ran out. Ask good questions. Sit close. And do not take the problem away.
One more thing, for those of us doing the math on our older kids and feeling the same grief I felt: it is not too late. It wasn’t too late for Rachelle and me. God’s grace is sufficient even in this, and the next conversation is always available. “Never be afraid to try” applies to us, too.
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