I can’t take away the pain of an injury, whether it’s a skinned knee from falling off a tricycle, or a pulled hamstring from running the 400m hurdles.
I can’t take away the heartbreak of betrayal by a friend.
I can’t make them get any older any faster.
I can’t undo a bad haircut (but I can secretly feel relieved that I’m not the one who cut the hair). I also can’t make it grow out any faster.
I can’t make them the star of the show or the team.
I can’t make them straight-A students.
I can’t make them like spinach or Brussels sprouts.
I can’t make them wait to outgrow their clothes until the season to wear those clothes has ended.
I can’t make their teachers stop assigning homework.
I can’t make someone else like them.
Do I wish I could do these things? In some cases, I think it would be nice. But if I want my children to grow up healthy, responsible, faithful and trustworthy, I have to let them take the bad with the good. Even when it breaks my heart to do that.