The library is cool and dim. The librarian looks up over her glasses from a behind the imposing desk centered in a large reception area.
“Hi,” I say. “I’m new here. Can you tell me where the handbooks for relating to young adults are?”
Her right eyebrow quirks ever so slightly. “Like, you mean adolescents, dependents?”
“No, I mean for semi—um, mostly—independent.”
She hesitates. “We have books for diapering, potty training, sleeping at night, childhood nutrition…” she ticks them off on her fingers.
I shake my head impatiently. “I’ve read all those seven times. I need to know about the next stages.”
“Schooling?”
“Beyond that.”
She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, we don’t carry literature like that. You could check at the county library? Maybe somewhere bigger would have what you want.”
But I’ve been to the county library—I’ve been to the local book store, checked thrift stores, even drove an hour to a prestigious book emporium a friend recommended. And I’m starting to wonder if I’m going to have to figure this out for myself.
This is an imaginary scene, but it describes how I feel some days. Why does it seem like the world is strangely silent about relating to children in the years beyond school? My peers and I have commiserated about the seeming lack of guidance for moms like us—moms new to this bewildering world of tall, mostly-independent, self-thinking young adults who live in our houses. They still park in our driveway, eat at our table (when they have time), expect that their clothes will show up clean a day or so after they toss them in the hamper, and delight us with their conversation and, now and then, their lame jokes.
But what about the times when I’m secretly worried about their spiritual life? When I’m not sure whether to check up on them, or let it go? How do I handle their comebacks when I kindly challenge them? What about when their observations about life and church make me squirm? What about when I don’t have answers to their questions?
So many questions; so few answers.
I’m learning as I live with children that have left the four walls of scheduled education. They have entered the wide school of life, with me, often bewildered, in tow. But though I haven’t found a book to step me through this stage, here are some things I’m learning.
Handle with care. My children don’t always think the same way I do anymore. If I want them to feel free to express opinions, they need to feel that it is safe to do so. Even though I secretly question them sometimes, I try not to let my first response be one of negativity or cynicism. Some of their choices are informed by the world they live in, while mine are often shaped by the world I lived in as a young adult twenty years ago. Times change, and resisting this is not always wise. I must often ask myself, “Is the way I feel about this a conviction, or is it an opinion or preference that my children may be allowed to choose differently about?”
It takes wisdom to know how many questions to ask. Boys especially are forming their opinions and impressions of what women are like; and who has more influence on that opinion than their day-to-day mother? Sometimes I’d like to know more about their excursions or activities, but too much curiosity can feel to young men like snooping, manipulating, or even distrust. I don’t want to be the cause of them forming the impression that women are suspicious or controlling.
Let go. My teens and young adults don’t always come to me with their thoughts and problems anymore. I’m glad they have mature friends in the church to help share the loads on their hearts sometimes. I believe my children are worthy of being allowed other friends. They are worthy of trust, too, when they make decisions to expand their worlds by working for someone other than Dad, going to help a family in another country, or teaching school.
After pouring our lives into their care and guidance for two decades, it can feel like a personal affront when my décor style or cleaning methods are criticized, or when my children no longer want me to buy their clothes. It’s not. We have raised them for this dawning independence. Our years of labor are bearing fruit—I want to welcome the fruit.
Delight in what is. Sometimes I struggle with how seldom we’re all home for supper. But it’s the way it is, and I can’t change it. So I try to savor the times we are all around the table, the times everyone lingers in the living room after family worship, the one-on-one moments with the youth whose schedule is extra busy. And I remind myself often how blessed we are that they still all live at home, even if “home” sometimes feels more like a motel and laundry service.
And sometimes my children do hang around seemingly just because they want to. I want to take these moments for what they are—shining opportunities for connection. If I’m dwelling on what is not, I’ll miss the delight of what is.
Don’t begrudge them their youth. Young people have incredible energy and capacity for activity. And they should. Sometimes I’m tempted to be jealous of their freedom to make short notice plans, or to be out half the nights of the week. One time when we were trying to make plans for a family event, I was discussing the schedule with my oldest son. He listed off the activities he had planned for the week. My response was, “At least you’re usually home for the night.” Later, I realized that was not the right response. I do not want to be the “martyr mom” who sighs and seeks pity and makes it looks like my life is a hard one and I’m the slave that always stays home and lets the rest walk over me. These days, these short years, are exciting and stretching years for our youth. I want to be excited with them, accept their busy schedules, and take an interest in their activities.
Pray for them, and with them. I can’t go along with my children on every business deal, city trip, or drive with friends—and they don’t want me to. But often when I watch a vehicle drive out the lane bearing one of my growing-up children, my heart follows with a prayer. I have prayed with my sons, but more often with my daughters, which is probably as it should be. Prayer brings closeness of heart and calmness of spirit, and what better way to point our children to the Source of all peace, comfort, and guidance?
Complement and affirm them. Even our young adult children need to hear us tell them, “I love you.” Other ways we can make them feel noticed and appreciated are by saying things like “You’ll soon be a better cook than I am.” “I love how you take time for the younger children.” “Thank you for cleaning the mudroom so well—you went beyond what I expected.” “I’m proud of how you took time for a coffee with that friend and talked with him.” “Dad and I really appreciate the growth we’ve seen in you the last few months.” “I think you handled that well.” “You work hard and you’re responsible—I love to see that in you.” “One of the things I like about you is…”. None of us outgrows our need for affirmation and being seen and appreciated. Even though it feels like they don’t need us as much, our young people still have tender hearts with basic needs they’ll never grow beyond. A hand on the shoulder or a quick hug have their places, too.
Don’t be afraid to say “I don’t know.” Sometimes, their questions feel too big. The issues they struggle with and wonder about don’t have easy answers—perhaps no answer at all short of heaven. Life has an element of mystery to it that we cannot completely eliminate or dismiss. Our children deserve good, Scriptural answers whenever we can give them, but it will not always be possible.
We do our youth a great disservice when we get defensive and controlling or when we put up walls that squelch all questions or conflict. Sometimes, their resistance to a certain way of doing something that is morally neutral has an aspect of validity. Perhaps sometimes it’s better to say things like, “I see what you’re saying, and I’m not insisting that our way is the only right way. Your way may not be wrong, but I feel a check in my spirit. Dad and I are accountable to make the best decisions for you that we can while you live at home; so we’re asking you to do it this way.” I try to let go of the feeling that I need a list of defenses and explanations or a chapter and verse for every family rule. There isn’t always one.
Trust them to God. My children may not be as mature as I wish, nor see doctrines as clearly as I hope they someday will, but they are Christians, and that means they have the Holy Spirit. And God has promised His faithfulness to children’s children. To me, that means that if their hearts are turned to Him, they are safe. They are mature enough, visionary enough, for now.
This stage of life is delightful, even in the poignancy and tug of letting go. Recently, my husband related a conversation he had had with our two oldest sons. We felt our boys had shown themselves wise and mature. My husband finished by saying, “We want to protect our children, but sometimes, we have to let them be adults and face life head-on.”
“Yes,” I agreed, but I turned away so he wouldn’t see the quick tears that sparkled in my eyes. Being in this new place, as the years of teaching and training in our children take root and bear fruit, is bittersweet.
This article was first published in the Motherhood Magazine, Issue Eight
Sarah, this is so incredibly tender and beautiful. Your children are blessed to have you as their mother. Once I get to this mothering stage, I'll be asking you for tips.