Trust the Story

“But fathers have to learn that daughters have to grow. If you truly love them you must let them go… “

King Triton regarding Ariel, The Little Mermaid

I remember when I was in my 20s helping my friend John move house. Whilst attempting to carry the bed down the stairs, John realised that a large bolt was hanging loose in the frame. So he grabbed it and, since he was still trying to carry the bed, he decided to carry the bolt in his mouth.

What caused this to lodge in my memory was the almost Pavlovian response from my friend’s mum: “Don’t swallow that John”. Now the bolt was about 6-8 inches long – it jutted out both sides of his mouth, there was absolutely no way he could swallow it – it would be like accidentally swallowing a chisel. I chuckled at the time but now find myself as a parent afflicting my children with similar statements. There are times when the words are half out of my mouth and I already know that what I am saying is ridiculous and completely wasted on my children but feel compelled to complete the ritual, flinging inane advice as a kind of automated response.

Why do I do that? Maybe offering advice is a way of validating my life lived thus far. Perhaps our children in their naivety and inexperience are the best chance I have to convince someone that I am wise and knowledgeable.

I think it is probably a response to the fact that children are so nuanced and that life can throw them so many curveballs. Parenting can feel an overwhelming responsibility and I want them to do so well but it is all too difficult. And sometimes in the face of all that complexity, "Don’t swallow that” is the best I’ve got. It’s the parenting equivalent of raising the bonnet when the car won’t start – I have no idea of how to make it work but raising the bonnet seems like something.

Now I am not against giving good advice and I am certainly not against providing boundaries. The element of this that causes some concern is the degree that it speaks to the difficulty in trusting my kids to make their own mistakes and my need to control outcomes.

This is not just a challenge as a parent, it’s also problematic as an educator, where the idea is to facilitate discovery and not spoil the journey by short cutting to the answer. Of course, any need I have to control outcomes – my own or for my children (and similar insecurities) is ultimately the manifestation of my struggle to trust in God’s story. The key (to me) for faith is the subordinate nature of our will to God’s. You can’t be all about the tailoring of your own story if you want to be a part of His.

In the book of Esther there is a scene where Mordecai confronts Esther. The takeaway is often the phrase, “that you were born for such a time as this.”  Having been marinated in Western individualistic culture this phrase is often played as an inspirational Esther beating the odds. But the context reads differently. Mordecai, it seems to me, is rebuking Esther – in fact declaring it is not about her at all.

“For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish. And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?”

The thing is, Mordecai trusts the story. Despite the edict, despite the apparent power ranged against his people, Mordecai knows God and knows that exile is not how God’s story ends. “relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise” - if not Esther then someone else. Reconciliation is what God promised, not exile. For the Jews again and again and again. Come on Esther - trust the story.

And come on me. I don’t want daily Manna – I want to store it. I want a ‘king like all the other nations’ I want more control. It’s the human condition. Trust the story. Let some things go. Whilst wanting the best for my children and seeking to optimise their experiences is pretty natural, I wonder what the underlying driver is really.