Kids were fed, napped, and happy—perfect evening ahead… or so I thought. 🚗 They woke from the car nap screaming, lying on the carpark floor. Ten minutes just to reach home. Two hours of tears. Inside, I stayed calm. But my heart? Frustrated. I just wanted to tick off the English lesson I’d planned. My “kindness” was really about finishing my checklist. The gospel cut through that. Jesus reminds me my worth isn’t in a smooth schedule or tasks done. Parenting is pointing Emma to Him, not completing lessons. 👉 Read the full story on my blog.
It seemed like a day set up for success.
I managed to leave work early. We enjoyed a cheerful steamboat lunch as a family. On the ride home, Emma and Caleb both dozed off for a good hour. Well-fed and well-rested—what could go wrong?
I pictured a calm evening of reading and learning. I even mapped out a one-hour window to study English with Emma and finish three storybooks before our evening appointment.
From Ideal to Meltdown
But as soon as the children woke in the car, the mood flipped. Both lay flat on the carpark floor, wailing and inconsolable. Ten minutes passed before we could coax them indoors. The crying didn’t stop there—it stretched on for more than two hours.
Each minute ticked by with my plan crumbling. Frustration rose in my heart, even though outwardly I stayed gentle and didn’t raise my voice.
Emotions as a Dashboard Light
This tension forced me to slow down and reflect. Emotions are like hazard lights on a car dashboard: they warn us something deeper is happening. Beneath my “kindness,” I realised I was simply trying to preserve my agenda. What I wanted was not Emma’s well-being but the satisfaction of checking off an English lesson.
Seeing Emma with Fresh Eyes
A second thought humbled me. Don’t adults also abandon tasks when we’re tired or distracted—like the presentation slides or the manuscript that still sit unfinished? The difference is that grown-ups can articulate their feelings and reschedule. Emma, still learning to express herself, could only collapse into tears.
The Illusion of Flexibility
I often tell people I’m adaptable. Yet the evening exposed how brittle my flexibility can be. One child’s meltdown—and my inner frustration spiked. Clearly, God is still working in this area of my life.
Where the Gospel Fits
These moments revealed how performance-driven I am. I measure a “good day” by tasks accomplished—even in parenting. But the gospel speaks a better word: Christ has already secured my identity. My worth is not built on the day’s checklist, nor is Emma’s worth measured by how smoothly bedtime unfolds.
How should the Christian think about this?
— ✂️ CUT FOR SUBSTACK ✂️ —
Parenting in Light of the Cross
The gospel reframes the goal of parenting. It isn’t to produce a perfectly behaved child or to keep to an airtight schedule. It’s to lead my children to Jesus.
That evening became a teaching moment for Emma. As we prayed together, I reminded her that while Daddy and Mommy care for her, we cannot always be present. Only Christ promises unfailing love and constant presence. He hears every cry and holds every tear.
An Invitation to Surrender
I also needed the reminder. My obsession with productivity—whether in the hospital or at home—easily turns tasks into idols. Yet Jesus invites me to lay down my need for control and to rest in His finished work.
Growing Together
Emma will learn, with time, to manage big emotions with calmer words and choices. And I must learn to let go of rigid expectations, trusting that God uses even chaotic evenings to form both of us.
The evening that looked wasted on the calendar was, in fact, rich with God’s grace—exposing hidden idols, nurturing compassion, and pointing both father and daughter to the steadfast love of Christ.