To raise world changers, it takes faith

It was nearly a year ago now on Labor Day Weekend 2015 that we launched our son; our brave, handsome, ready-to-change-the-world arrow. On a hot Atlanta day, we hugged him goodbye for one last time, turned around, and walked toward the van. There on that sidewalk he stood as we left, hopes and dreams of grand adventure folded neatly and tucked in that great, yellow backpack.

He was 22.

It was the months and years, though, leading up to his much-anticipated Race that were fraught with turmoil. As his mother, I knew that Jamison would probably never be just like other kids in terms of following the conventional career paths. From little up, he was a boy who needed to move and go and do and see and touch and feel and climb and run. And wiggle and twitch and discover and adventure.

Adrenaline was his friend.

I remember watching him once when he was little. We were working on memorizing Scripture. Mama was drilling him, he was practicing, and the whole time, he was wanting to play and move, holding Woody (from Toy Story) in his small hands. All at once, I thought, “You know, instead of demanding that he sit still in a chair, I’m going to let him go and keep practicing and see what happens.” And instead of taking it away and asking him to “pay attention,” I let him keep it.

I learned something that day. As I worked with him on verses, Woody flew. He leapt. He jumped. He fell. He performed twists and turns and loops and stunts all over and around my ironing board. And the whole time, my boy was learning.

Huh.

Then my adventuring boy grew up, and he discovered a passion for performing. That, folded together with his lifelong passion for lost folks, for evangelizing, seemed to point him in a direction that scared me silly.

To Hollywood, and the arts.

I’ll tell it to you straight. I fought him. I could see nothing but dangers; nothing but menace. Nothing but corruption and deception in a very dark and godless industry. But then came the World Race. And, too, came my own breaking, then growth in the knowledge of Who God is and who I was and what that meant for not only myself, but for my family.

And now, I can let him go.

Instead of striving to control him, his future, his life, I am able to en-trust him into the hands of God. And enjoy him. He’s enjoying me, too (and my food).

Control, I know, is born of fear, and fear is born from its father, the father of lies. That’s not the father I’m serving anymore. And that, my friend, is not faith.

It’s time for me to release him. I cannot shoehorn him into *my* plan for his life. *My* ideas of what he should be. *My* opinions on where he should go, what he should do, who he should be.

If we are going to control our children, then we will strangle and stunt their growth. Yes, we will.

If we insist on controlling our children, we will damage the relationship and push them away.

If we insist on making all of their decisions, we will keep them from learning how to follow God for themselves. They won’t have to; they’ll be following us.

I want my sons to know His voice. I want them to step out in faith. I know they will fail; they’ll fall and get it wrong…

Just like you. And just like me. And God was faithful.

I want my sons to see how God works. To know the agony of obedience before seeing, and then the joy of the miracles He works.

I want my sons to experience closed doors. I want them to learn “closed-door lessons.”

I want them, too, to feel the awe when a door that they’ve knocked on flies open. Ah, yes.

I want all of that and then more for our sons. And it can’t happen unless I release them.

The bottom line is this:  If we want to raise world changers, sons and daughters who are a menace to the enemy, who take new ground and advance the Kingdom, then we cannot keep them bound up in our bubble. We cannot. God doesn’t do that with us.

If we want them to be light, then they must go where it’s dark, and God is the One who will send them. Equip them. Anoint them. Empower them and then, finally, place them.

Let’s show them how courage and great faith can look. Let’s release them into His hands, their true home. We can.

Yes, we can. Amen.