“Mom, that stuff’s not good for you. Here, drink some water.”
“Mom, don’t be afraid. God is in control, and everything’s going to be all right!”
“Mom, maybe you need to be a little more patient with Dad.”
It’s not the usual teenager guff. It’s real wisdom being played back for me just as I originally presented it to them, only now I’m on the receiving end and feeling a bit rebellious. They stare at me with mature, pleading expressions as if to say, “I love you, Mom, and I really want you to get this—before it’s too late.”
My feelings are a broiling mixture of pride and incredulousness. I’m still the mom. I still know more than they do, right?
Sometimes I actually wonder. Some days it feels like they’ve taken the ball I’ve passed them and run with it much farther than I could ever dream of running. They do things I can’t do. They know things I don’t know. And I’m thankful. But I don’t want to give up my throne.
I’m still moving forward, but clearly not as fast. They will continue increasing in wisdom long after I start repeating the same stories over and over. (I’ve already started doing that.)
If I want to stay ahead of them, there’s only one way—I must continue to grow in grace.