For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a planner. I liked knowing what was coming, feeling in control. Raising my daughter, Lily, I had a vision of how things would be – the schools she’d attend, the activities she’d be involved in, even the kind of young woman she’d become.
My faith, in this area of my life, felt like it was about ensuring everything went according to my plan, believing that if I prayed hard enough and did everything “right,” God would bless my carefully laid path. When Lily started showing interest in things I hadn’t envisioned – art school in the city, a path far removed from our quiet life in Hermann – a knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. I prayed, but my prayers felt more like demands, pleas for God to steer her back onto the “right” course, my course. Fear gripped me – fear for her safety, fear of the unknown, fear that I was somehow failing as a mother.
One Sunday, our pastor gave a sermon about surrender, about trusting in God’s plan even when it doesn’t align with our own. The words felt like a direct message. Later that week, I was helping my mother sort through some old belongings. We came across a faded letter my grandmother had written years ago, sharing her own anxieties about letting go of her dreams for my mother as she forged her own path. In the letter, she wrote about the unexpected joys and blessings that came when she finally surrendered her need for control and placed her trust in God’s guidance. Reading those words, penned by a woman I admired deeply, felt like a gentle whisper of reassurance. It wasn’t about abandoning my love and concern for Lily, but about shifting my focus from control to trust.
Letting go wasn’t easy. There were many tearful conversations with Lily, and many nights spent in prayer, not asking for my plan to be reinstated, but for God to guide her steps and give me the strength to support her, even if it wasn’t the path I would have chosen. Slowly, I began to see Lily thriving in her new environment. Her passion for art blossomed, and she found a community of like-minded individuals. It wasn’t the life I had envisioned, but it was her life, and she was happy and growing. I realized that my tightly held plans weren’t necessarily God’s best plan for her. My faith shifted from being about control to being about trust – trusting that God’s love for Lily was even greater than my own, and that sometimes, the greatest act of love is to release our grip and allow those we care for to blossom in their own unique way. The unexpected strength wasn’t in holding on, but in the freedom found in letting go and trusting in a greater purpose.
