By Mark Reidy
An unexpected revelation has drastically altered my outlook on life – my
children are not mine. Now before I receive a frenzied call from my
mother-in-law, let me explain.
Recently my family shifted across town and consequently my children had to attend a new school. Amongst all the struggles and stresses associated with moving house, the social upheaval of my children weighed most heavily upon me.
Despite the best efforts of my wife and I to pray and seek the will of God in relation to our move, I was still wracked with guilt at having to sever them from the only communal network they have known. And so, in desperation, I responded with the composure of any parent who finds themselves hopelessly out of their depth – I used unashamed bribery!
I justified this response by convincing myself that showering them with gifts would ease any emotional pain that they may endure.
It was my inadequate response that led to my life-altering revelation – that I did not own my children, but was in fact, only their earthly guardian.
These little souls, I realised, are a gift from God, their true Father and were only on loan to me during their earthly tenure. My desire to embrace my children closely and shield them from any pain did, undeniably, stem from a heart of love, but it was also tainted by fear, insecurity and selfishness.
Because, as I discovered when they returned from the first day at their new school with smiles on their faces, it had been my own inner turmoil that I had been trying to appease. I had sought God in the situation, but when it came to the crunch I felt a need to intervene. The reality was that my desire to protect my children from any pain was not born entirely from selfless love, but was founded, rather, on my inability to trust God completely and in all circumstances.
Ironically, it was my bungling attempts to be perceived by my children as a perfect father that was, in essence, blocking them from the only perfect Fatherhood that they could ever know.
My efforts to control every aspect of their lives was effectively telling God that He didn’t know what was best for my children and He needed to step aside so I could compensate for His inadequacies!
My Damascus-road moment was a humbling one, because I had to accept that my own love was not pure. However, it was also a freeing moment because it made me aware that if I always sought God’s will for their lives, then there was less chance that I would try to impose my own desires (and failings) upon them.
The experience gave me a clearer understanding, albeit far less dramatic, of both the anguish and the spiritual wisdom of Abraham as he succumbed to God’s request to sacrifice his only son. I pondered upon the moment when, in obedience to God, he stood over Isaac with dagger in hand, not understanding, but trusting anyway that God knew best.
Abraham passed this ultimate test of trust, because he understood that Isaac did not belong to him, but it is one that I fail regularly. And such failure is fraught with danger, because once I assume ownership of my children then the logical progression is that, as my possessions, I have the right to do with them what I want.
I have then stepped into the realm of moral relativism that Pope Benedict XVI warns of – the seedling that can spawn far greater travesties such as abuse and even abortion, as it allows me to determine, justify and apply my own version of morality.
What a blessing it is then, that I have come to understand that the most loving choice that I can make for my children is to totally surrender them to their rightful owner, because, as much as I love them, it is only God who will love them perfectly and eternally.