I recently watched a Planet Earth special of breath-taking scenes of nature played out in daily life. One scene in particular struck me. It was a mother wood duck in a forest waiting for her babies as one by one they bailed out of their sky-high nest. These ducklings appeared really small with fluff instead of feathers. The nest was way up in a tree and the little ducks fell instead of flew to the ground. They landed in a big pile of leaves, bouncing and doing back flips, yet seemingly uninjured. I wondered if Momma Duck or God or both, lovingly arranged this soft place to fall.

How I would love for all my children to fall softly in this world. To land in a prepared place where they won’t get hurt. To be given time to grow their Christian feathers out and learn how to fly with God before the trials come. If it was up to me, I would simply keep my kids in the nest until they had their “faith wings,” until they were grown up tried and true Christians. That’s my problem, I want to be God with my children.

Admitting this humbles me. That when it comes to my children, I want to be God. That I’d like to decide when my kids are big enough to make that leap out of the nest. I want to plan where they fall. Actually, I don’t want my children to fall at all, I want them to fly, so not only do I have a God complex, there’s pride involved too.

This realization has come about because our daughters are nearly 18 and 20 years old and both are at the edge of the nest longing to fly. I don’t think these girls are ready for the world yet, but ready or not, the leap is about to happen. Now I find myself piling prayers underneath my daughters like leaves hoping when they fall, it’s in a soft place.

Obviously God is much better at being God than I am. So I’ve been repenting of the sins of control and pride in my mothering. Our three-year-old son Garry James and I watch a lot of Charlie Brown and in that cartoon you can never understand what the adults are saying. Awhile back, God showed me this is how I sound to my teenagers when I take on the role of the Holy Spirit in their lives. I become an invisible adult my kids tune out. This is not the kind of mother I want to be. I long to be a mother of love and wisdom and Spirit-filled grace.

So once again I’m on my knees crying out to God to change me. To put me in my place. A soft place to fall too.