Some mornings I open my Bible and say: 'Okay Lord, I need a word TODAY.' Not a word for the week. Not a devotional. Not a passage to journal about and reflect on later with a cup of tea. A word. Right now. Because my teenager just walked past me without speaking, made herself something to eat, and went back to her room — and I'm sitting here wondering what I did and whether I should address it or let it breathe, and God I genuinely do not know.
Being a person of faith while raising a teenager is a particular kind of spiritual marathon. You're not just praying for patience. You're praying for wisdom, for timing, for the right words, for the ability to NOT say the wrong thing at the exact wrong moment — which, if you are anything like me, is a genuine daily challenge.
I have stuck my foot in my mouth more times than I can count. I have pushed when I should have waited. I have gone quiet when she needed me to speak. I have said the right thing at the wrong time. Parenting is humbling. Parenting a teenager is a masterclass in humility. Because nothing on this earth will humble you faster than a 14-year-old who is absolutely certain that you are wrong, and explains it to you, calmly, with receipts.
And I am 50-something. I have LIVED. I have been through things that would make your hair curl. But my daughter can look me in the eyes with complete, serene confidence and explain why I don't understand the situation. I have to remind myself in those moments: she is fourteen. She does not have the full picture. She is not wrong because she is bad — she is fourteen because she is fourteen.
But then I remember: God knew. He knew exactly how old I would be when she needed me. He knew what I had lived through, and what she would face, and He still said — yes. These two. This mama. This girl.
That is not a mistake. That is an assignment.
Some days the assignment feels impossible. Some days I am tired in my bones in a way that sleep doesn't fix. Some days I don't have the wise words. Some days I sit in my car in the driveway for ten minutes before going inside, just talking to God, asking Him to help me be what she needs tonight. And He always meets me there. He hasn't left me empty-handed yet.
Here's what I know at this age that I didn't know when I was a young mother: the seeds you plant in your kids grow on God's timeline, not yours. You may plant a seed today and not see it sprout for five years. That can feel like nothing is working. It isn't true. It's growing underground where you can't see it yet. Trust the process. Trust the Gardener.
Parenting a teenager is a spiritual practice whether you signed up for it or not. It teaches you patience you didn't know you had. It teaches you to keep showing up even when you feel invisible and underappreciated and exhausted. It teaches you that love is not a feeling — it's a decision you make every single morning, especially on the mornings when everything in you wants to just stay in bed.
On the hard days — and there will be hard days — come back to this: God did not bring you this far to leave you here. He did not give you this child to break you. He gave you this child to grow you both. Together. Imperfectly, beautifully, loudly, with many Google searches and late-night prayers and small moments of grace that remind you why you are doing this.
You are doing better than you think. I genuinely mean that.
Hold on, vintage moms. Hold on.
Buckle up, buttercup. The best is still ahead.