This article is the fifth and final part in a series reflecting on the Joyful Mysteries from a mother’s perspective. You can find part one on the Annunciation here, part two on the Visitation here, part three on the Nativity here, and part four on the Presentation in the Temple here.
Nothing is quite like trying to convince your toddler to poop on the potty. You dole out stickers, reward them with M&Ms, convince them to sit a little longer with screen time, and even bring them with you to watch the magic happen in real time. But still, only our kids can decide to go. (Can you tell what we have been doing in my house these last few weeks?)
Potty training may be the first real “battle of the wills” between parents and their children. Try as we might, we can’t force our kids to use the potty, and this struggle for control between parents and kids is one that parents ultimately cannot win until their children decide to let them. Sure, infants can be frustrating as they keep you up at night or you struggle to decipher their cries. But they wear the clothes you put them in, they don’t call your food “yucky,” and they go where you tell them (or carry them) to. For the first year or two of their lives, our kids are almost an extension of ourselves. But anyone who has met a toddler (or a teenager!) quickly learns that our children have wills and desires of their own.
While we can set up a framework of expectations for routines, chores, and respect for others—and can utilize reminders or enforce consequences when things go awry—we ultimately are reckoning with people who can choose counter to our wishes. We can’t make them put their shoes on or do their homework or stop using that whiny voice. We can’t always know if they are wearing a seatbelt or using appropriate language. There comes a point in which, despite the virtues we have instilled and the discipline we have wielded, kids are free to be their own people. And sometimes, their choices aren’t even lacking in virtue but are simply different from what we thought or imagined for them. This truth, of course, is painful for parents. One minute, you’re buzzing with excitement over the child you’re about to welcome into your home. The next minute, that very same angel suddenly hates the lunch you’ve made for them every day since they were a toddler, is not interested in the birthday present you spent months waiting to give them, or is embarrassed that you still listen to the Backstreet Boys (or is having an accident on your basement carpet).
In the Finding in the Temple, Jesus remains behind in Jerusalem without his parents’ knowing. When Mary and Joseph find Him days later, they are obviously distressed: “Son,” Mary asks, “why have you treated us this way? Behold, Your father and I have been anxiously looking for you!” (Luke 2:48). Most likely, we have caught ourselves asking similar questions: “Why did you hit your brother?” “Did you dump all of this water out of the tub?” “Why didn’t you answer my phone calls?”
Unlike our kids, Jesus was perfectly obedient, and He still caused his parents anxiety. Mary and Joseph’s worry was part of the Lord’s plan, not a reflection of imperfect parenting destined to doom their child for life. So of course, our imperfect kids will cause us grief, worry, disappointment, anger, and fear—and so many of their decisions will not be indicative of our parenting, but of their growing independence and need to learn about the world. As parents, and especially as mothers, our hearts are so inextricably woven into our children’s that many of their decisions feel like ours. Moments in which they behave poorly feel like reflections on our parenting. And as they grow and make their own path in the world, their decisions still feel very much like they are ours—with all of the joys and the sufferings that come along with them.
The Finding in the Temple shows us, even when our children do follow God’s will for their lives, that path will inevitably bring us some discomfort or pain. They may get involved in an extracurricular we don’t find interesting or make their beds in a way that makes no sense to us. They may move away or marry someone we find frustrating; they may enter the priesthood, religious, or consecrated life, and we will have to watch our kids sacrifice in ways we didn’t imagine and forgo potential grandchildren. All can be potentially good discernment for them or simply matters of personal taste, even if we do not agree with or understand their choices.
Having kids means our lives are no longer our own. From the choices we make to the way we spend our money to the way our hearts and minds are so focused on our children most of the day, we are inevitably changed. There is a significant imbalance to the parent-child relationship as parents offer their lives for children who will one day take that love and sacrifice and use it to leave their parents’ side. But like Mary and Joseph, we still have to make the journey to our own metaphorical Jerusalem where they may be lost along the way or cause us worry in ways we didn’t foresee. They are ultimately not ours but God’s. We can pray over them, intercede for them, and hope that with all of the love, teaching, and sacrifice we have offered for them, they will turn out to be children who know, love, and serve the Lord.
And if potty training has taught me nothing else recently, it’s this: I can’t force it. Positivity and prayer go a long way in guiding them in a direction that is ultimately good for them. The struggles that will come as they learn on their own are inevitable, and accepting that so much is out of my hands is both stressful and freeing. The best I can do is be present and kind, maybe model for them how it’s done, and hope they one day catch on.
