Give Them Roots, Then Give Them Wings: Sometimes Love Means Letting Them Fall

There comes a time in parenting when love has to move out of the way. I know that doesn't sound like love. We have been taught that loving our children means protecting them, providing for them and keeping them from experiencing the pain we experienced. But I've lived long enough to understand something: You cannot protect your children from life.

You cannot protect them from disappointment. You cannot protect them from a broken heart. You cannot protect them from being used. You cannot protect them from making bad decisions. And you certainly cannot protect them from every consequence that comes with those decisions.

At some point, you have to stop being a helicopter parent — hovering over them, watching every move, rushing in every time something goes wrong. Sometimes you have to let them fall. Because if you never let them fall, how will they ever learn that they can get back up?

When I graduated from high school, my father gave me two weeks to make a decision. He said, “You're either going to school or you're going to get a job ” And trust me, he was serious. But then came the fine print. If I chose to not go to school or get a job, he wasn't going to finance my laziness. In other words: “Son, I love you, but I'm not going to subsidize your stupidity.” That's old-school parenting right there!

Somewhere along the way, however, we confused loving our children with making life easy for them. Those are not the same thing. You can love your child and still say no. You can love your child and refuse to pay that bill. You can love your child and refuse to make that phone call. You can love your child and refuse to rescue them from a mess they created. And yes, sometimes you can love your child enough to tell them: “You can't keep living like this in my house.” That's not abandonment. Sometimes that's accountability.

Watch an eagle. The nest is wonderful when the eaglets are young. Mama and Daddy feed them. Protect them. Cover them. Provide for them. But they were never born to spend their entire lives in the nest. Eventually, the nest has to become uncomfortable. Eventually, they have to discover their wings. And I believe that's where some of us parents have gotten it wrong. We have made the nest so comfortable that our children have no reason to fly.

No rent. No light bill. No water bill. Driving a car they didn't buy. Insurance they don't pay. Gas they don't put in the tank. Food they didn't purchase. And some of us are still knocking on the bedroom door waking up a grown child because we don't want them to be late for work! Then we wonder why they don't understand responsibility. Maybe it's because we keep taking responsibility away from them.

Every time you rescue your child, ask yourself a question: Am I helping them — or am I handicapping them? Because there is a difference between giving somebody a hand and carrying somebody who refuses to walk.

As parents, our job is not to raise children who will always need us. Our job is to raise adults who can survive when we're no longer around. Our sons need to know how to work, cook, clean, manage money, accept responsibility and respect others. Our daughters need those same skills. Because one day they are going to become somebody's husband, somebody's wife, somebody's parent, somebody's employee, somebody's employer or somebody's leader. And we cannot send irresponsible adults into the world and expect somebody else to finish raising them. We owe our children roots of responsibility and wings of independence.

Sometimes love has to close a door so responsibility can open another one. Sometimes They Have to Come to Themselves

That brings me to one of my favorite stories in the Bible — the prodigal son. His father gave him his inheritance and allowed him to leave. Notice something. The father didn't chase him. He didn't send somebody behind him. He didn't keep wiring money. He didn't show up every time the boy got himself into trouble. He let him go. And that son wasted what he had. He made bad choices. He ran with the wrong people. Eventually, he found himself in a place he never imagined he would be. But Scripture gives us one of the most powerful lines in the story: “And when he came to himself…”

There it is. Sometimes your children have to come to themselves. And Mama, Daddy — sometimes they can't come to themselves because you keep getting there first. Before they feel the consequence, you fix it. Before they experience the pain, you remove it. Before they figure out the solution, you provide it. Before they learn the lesson, you erase the test. But there are some lessons God may be trying to teach your children that your constant rescuing keeps interrupting.

This may be the hardest part. Sometimes parents have to trust God enough to get out of His way. You prayed over that child. You took them to church. You taught them right from wrong. You gave them values. You showed them what responsibility looks like. You planted the seed. Now there comes a time when you have to trust what you planted.

They may stumble. They may fall. They may make decisions that keep you awake at night. They may even have to spend some time in their own version of the pigpen. But remember: the pigpen brought the prodigal son back to his senses. Sometimes hardship teaches what comfort cannot. Sometimes an empty pocket teaches what a lecture cannot. Sometimes a closed door teaches what another bailout cannot. And sometimes being away from home is the only thing that teaches somebody how blessed they were when they were living there.

Parents, love your children. Pray for them. Encourage them. Be there when they genuinely need you. But don't love them so much that you rob them of the struggle necessary to become who God created them to be. There comes a time when you have to stop hovering. Stop fixing everything. Stop financing foolishness. Stop protecting them from every consequence.

Give them roots. Then give them wings. Because the purpose of the nest was never to become their permanent address. The nest was the place where they were fed, protected, taught and prepared until they were strong enough to fly. And one day, despite every instinct inside you telling you to hold on, love has to loosen its grip.

Trust what you taught them. Trust what you put inside them. And most importantly, trust the God you introduced them to. Because sometimes the greatest thing you can do for your children is not catch them every time they fall. Sometimes you have to let them discover that God gave them the strength to get back up.

And maybe — just maybe — after they've been out there long enough, struggled long enough and learned enough, they'll look back toward home and finally understand: Mama wasn't trying to hurt me. Daddy wasn't being hard on me. They were teaching me how to live without them. And when that happens, you'll know you didn't just raise a child. You raised somebody who learned how to fly.