Growing Pains

Recently we celebrated a birthday - and also a decade of parenting. As I reflect on the past ten years of motherhood, I can’t help but feel grateful. Becoming a parent, regardless of how a child comes into your care, is one of the most life-changing events imaginable. It brings new heights of joy and new depths of pain. Yet the pains of parenting don’t have to be only sleepless nights, worry, or frustration - they can also be growing pains, if you let them.

Becoming a mother expanded my heart in a way I didn’t think possible. I didn’t know a love so big and so full existed, and I can’t help but think that this is still just a tiny glimpse of the greatness of God’s love for us. He calls us His children. He is love in its purest form. It is my great privilege and calling to love like He does.

Motherhood has also brought me face-to-face with an ugliness I never fully realized or admitted was in me. Bitter roots from my past, a desire to control the present, and anxiety for the future have surfaced in surprising and terrifying ways in my role as a mother. At one point, I truly believed these things couldn’t be changed - that the ugliness inside was simply who I am, beyond my control. Negative thoughts would bubble up: “I’m not a good mom,” “My kids are impossible,” or “I’ve ruined them; it’s my fault.” Those were lies. If you hear them too, recognize them for what they are - lies.

Here’s the truth: perfection is impossible this side of heaven. Yet just as our kids make mistakes and grow from them, we can too - and what a powerful model that is for them. When I let go of those lies and began to see each challenge, each pain, each mistake as an opportunity for refinement - or an opportunity to show love in spite of it - I started to see real change.

I am still a work in progress and will be for the rest of my life. But I am held by a love that is patient, kind, and persevering - a love that calls me forward, not in shame, but in grace and hope.

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” — 2 Corinthians 12:9

The Confidence We're Really Looking For

Who doesn’t want a confident child? It’s a quality we cheer for, a trait we believe paves the way for success and happiness. But what is confidence, really?

As a third-generation Chinese American, I’ve lived at the intersection of two cultures that view this concept differently. In the U.S., confidence is a celebrated virtue, a ‘believe in yourself’ boost that can propel you forward. In Chinese heritage, however, the concept of confidence holds tension and can tip toward arrogance if presented as loud or unearned.

When I asked my mom about my childhood, she described, from an American point of view, that I was a confident, outgoing girl who made friends easily. But my own memory tells a different story. For as long as I can remember, I was a people-pleaser. I wanted to be liked—who doesn't? I was often perceived as grounded: mature and self-assured, but inside, I was a pendulum constantly swinging between two extremes.

On one side was a feeling of strength, almost invincibility—a brash belief that I could do anything I set my mind to. But isn't that just pride in disguise? On the other side was a shaky foundation of self-doubt, where I sought approval and validation from others. That doesn’t sound like true confidence, either.

I’ve come to believe we often misunderstand confidence. It isn’t about how we appear to others, but what’s going on deep inside. We don't want our kids to have a surface-level confidence that shatters at the first sign of failure or criticism. We want them to have a deep, unwavering confidence that is both strong and humble.

So, how do we get there?

To start, let’s redefine what we’re really looking for. What if true confidence isn't self-confidence at all?

When we root our confidence solely in our own abilities, wit, or past successes, we commit ourselves to that unfulfilling pendulum swing. Our sense of worth becomes dependent on our latest achievement or the changing approval of others. Inevitably, this ties our identity to an unstable cycle, leaving us to swing between the fleeting high of pride and the downward pull of insecurity.

The ancient wisdom of the Bible offers a radical alternative. The apostle Paul writes:

“Such confidence we have through Christ before God. Not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God.”

- 2 Corinthians 3:4-5

True confidence is not self-confidence, but God-confidence.

It’s the profound assurance that our competence, worth, and identity are gifts from a faithful and loving God. Rooted here, in Christ, we find the freedom to be both courageous and content, bold and humble. We can step forward without the crushing pressure to prove ourselves, because we are already secure in Him.

This is the unshakable foundation we must build in our own lives, and then model for our children. The best way to build true confidence in them is to demonstrate a confidence rooted in something far greater than ourselves. Let your confidence be in the One who will never fail, Jesus. This is the confidence we're all looking for, the confidence we’re made for.

Is Obedience the Goal?

Obedience.

What’s your gut reaction to that word? A nod of agreement, recognizing its importance? Or a flinch of caution, a reminder of control?

To our modern ears, "obedience" can sound archaic, even animalistic. It’s what we expect from a well-trained pet. But what about our children? I’ll be honest: I want obedience from my kids. I want to say, “Please put the iPad down,” or “Can you help set the table?” and have them respond right away.

But I have to ask myself: what’s really behind that desire?

Is it the generational echo of filial piety from my Chinese heritage, where obedience is akin to a love language? Is it my hope that they’ll learn to obey Christ, discovering the profound freedom that comes from trusting our Heavenly Father? Or, if I'm really honest, is it sometimes just a selfish desire for control and convenience?

Let's take a step back. In those moments when you’re demanding obedience, what are you truly trying to accomplish in your parenting?

Sure, we want our children to listen. But what we want even more is for them to make the right choice on their own. I want them to put the iPad down without having to ask. But when that doesn’t happen, the cycle begins: a polite request, a firmer command, nagging, and finally, an empty threat—“That’s it, no screens for a month!” We all end up frustrated, and no one has learned anything.

I think the reason "obedience" leaves a sour taste for many of us is that it can feel so empty. In my own upbringing, it often meant: Don’t ask questions. Don’t think for yourself. Just obey, or face the consequences. This approach may change behaviour in the moment but doesn't shape our heart.

So, how do we raise the bar? What is the higher goal?

The answer lies in this insightful verse from Luke, speaking about the role and mission of John the Baptist:

And he will go on before the Lord… to turn the hearts of the parents to their children and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous—to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.

Luke 1:17

Here's the shift: the opposite of disobedience isn't obedience -- it's wisdom.

This reframes everything. Parenting becomes less about enforcing rules and more about planting the seeds of understanding. It’s the long, patient work of asking questions and guiding them to see the why behind the what.

Our ultimate goal isn’t to control our children's behaviour, but to nurture their wisdom. We are not just seeking compliance for today; we are cultivating the discernment they will need for a lifetime.