Imperfect Parenting

Yesterday was my first Mother’s Day with my eight-month-old baby girl, Laura Marie. The day was full of hugs, smiles, laughs and joy. Laura shined in her new yellow dress at church, and we enjoyed family time later in the afternoon. We listened to sappy “mom songs”, and I cried hard to In My Daughter’s Eyes by Martina McBride. It was a good day.

At the end of the evening, as I hugged my sweet girl goodnight and laid her in her crib, a fear rushed in. I tried to resist, focusing on the sweetness of this moment, but this particular fear pulled hard at my attention.

“You’re going to let her down one day.”

The thought hit me in that moment that as much as she loves me and thinks I’m wonderful now, there will come a day when I fail her. I am not a perfect parent, nor will I ever be one. My imperfections and my own struggles will come out in my imperfect parenting.

My husband and I joke (but not really) about how our children will have to go to counseling one day because of us. We know we’re going to mess some things up. We’ve established that as fact. Our goal is to simply reduce the number of sessions.

The Realities of Imperfect Parenting

Maybe I will be too controlling at times, or put unnecessary pressure on her. Or maybe I’ll fail to respond with patience and openness to her vast array of teenage emotions, and either lash out, attempt to fix, or disconnect. Maybe my insecurities will come out and contribute to her’s.

Whatever it is, I know there will be a time when I let her down in some way. Not only will she see my faults, but she will be affected by them in some capacity. Her feelings will be hurt. I may do some damage. She will won’t always smile at me the way she does so freely now.

Oh, my heart!

This is hard to think about. Things are so “easy” now. I don’t have to worry about discipline methods, setting boundaries, or teaching life lessons. I know that will come, and I do look forward to the growth it will bring both of us. But I know one day, I will have to face the realities of my imperfect parenting.

I leave her room, trying to shake these thoughts. Why am I thinking about this now?

I take a shower, brush my teeth and climb into bed. My husband plays guitar softly on the bed. He stops and asks me what’s wrong. He’s always so sensitive and knows when something is bothering me.

I tell him my thoughts. I tell him how I am afraid of letting her down. Afraid of hurting her. Afraid of inevitable conflict and the possibility of ruptured relationship.

My husband responds with wisdom that he would say came directly from the Lord:

“Elizabeth, our mistakes provide an opportunity for us to teach and practice forgiveness. How will she learn what it means to forgive, unless she experiences disappointment herself? And what better way for us to teach her how to forgive than for us to be the ones who ask for forgiveness?”

My eyes open wide.

“That’s so true!” And how freeing this is…

The Freedom in Forgiveness

There’s a reason why Jesus calls us to forgive.

It sets both the wronged and the wrongdoer free.

In Matthew 18, Peter asks: “Lord, how often will my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? As many as seven times?”  Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you seven times, but seventy-seven times.” Our Lord gives complete and total forgiveness saying, “For I will be merciful toward their iniquities, and I will remember their sins no more” (Hebrews 8:12).

As children, forgiveness sets us free from bitterness, resentment, and tightly held grudges against our parents.

As parents, forgiveness sets us free from the demands of perfectionism. We don’t have to get it all right. When we mess up, we apologize, humbly ask for forgiveness, and accept the grace there for us. In fact, our imperfect parenting provides the opportunity to teach our children about forgiveness.

That night, on my first Mother’s Day, I decided to let go of this idea of doing parenting perfectly. Whatever that even means…

I choose, instead, to embody forgiveness over failure.

I want my daughter to learn this from me, and she will, oh so well.