Knowing What's Best

You'd think that after all these years, she'd learn.

I love my mother-in-law. Obviously, she produced my wonderful husband, and she's a loving and generous nana to my two sons. But sometimes, I feel like her concern and fretfulness cross over into my parenting territory.

"Does he eat any protein?" "Does he get any Vitamin C?" "You let them throw a Nerf football in the house?" "Don't you think you should go with him to the bathroom in this restaurant?" "Are you sure that's enough sunscreen? I think they need more sunscreen. Will you put on more sunscreen? Never mind, I'll do it myself."

Honestly.

One time, I'd had enough. I was tired of feeling like my every parenting move was being questioned, or even overturned. I wasn't sure I'd wanted children in the first place, and had been insecure about my parenting abilities for many years. But by this point, I felt that spending 3,000 days with each son, give or take a year or two, gave me a pretty good idea of what they needed, and the authority to act in their best interests.

I don't even remember what the issue was in this particular instance, or my mother-in-law's question. I just remember my kind but pointed response.

"Mom, I love my sons. Do you think I would ever intentionally do or allow anything that would hurt them?"

Silence, swallowed protest, then a subdued, "No, I guess not."

I felt relieved I had finally said something.

Since then, there has been much greater understanding and freedom between my mother-and-law and me. I love my children, and I want to love them well. Sometimes that means I may parent them differently from how others would choose. It also means that sometimes I allow them to face the consequences of their own decisions. But ultimately, I try to do what's best for them.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago. I was telling God what I thought about some stuff that he'd allowed in my life. I was concerned and fretful—and afraid. I didn't want to get hurt.

In a mid-rant pause, God spoke.

"My dear child," he said. "I love you. Do you think I would ever do or allow anything that would hurt you?"

Silence, swallowed protest, then a subdued, "No, I guess not."

In a moment, my feelings went from anger and protest to embarrassment and humility. I wonder if God felt relieved I'd finally let him say something. The irony between this exchange and the one with my mother-in-law wasn't lost on me. I repented of both.

Spending 14,000 days with me, give or take a year or two, plus knitting me together in my mother's womb, gave God a pretty good idea of what I needed, and the authority to act in my best interests. Yes, he may do it differently from how I'd choose, and he generally allows me to face the consequences of my decisions. But ultimately, he does what's best for me.

You'd think that after all these years, I'd learn.

Angie Ward is a PhD student and ministry leader who lives with her family in North Carolina.

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